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OLDCOURT;

A NOVEL,

IN THREE VOLUMES.

' By Taste and Fashion swayed, lespotic leader*,
We 're novel-writers all, or novel-rea-iers.
The dull historian now no more prerails;
In vain the traveller tells his idle tales.
The poet's lyre no mor« attention meets;
The Muses may sins ballads in our streets.
What's now the rage for subjects gay or grave 0 ?
—A novel, in three volumes, post octavo."

Piirsuiti of Tafle.—C7>.u\.o 1 1

VOL. III.

LONDON :

HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET

1829.

LONDON :

PUINTED BY UKNRY DlttGENS, LEICESTUR STRKKT,
JLEICESTKR SQUARE.

/.3

OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER I,

The cottage in which the widow ConoUy re-
sided, was somewhat superior to the cabins by
which it was surrounded. Her husband had
been a kind of small farmer, who cultivated a
few acres in his own hands. He was, therefore,
raised a little above the common peasant ; and
the tenement which he built for himself, boasted
the aristocratic distinction of a chimney, the
convenient arrangement of three rooms, and the
luxury of two glass windows, consisting of a
couple of panes each. The pig and the chickens,
also, though very frequent visitors, could not be
said to be domiciliated in the best apartment ;

VOL. III. B

'2, OLDCOURT.

as a sty and a hen-roost were wattled off in a
picturesque slope, from one of the sides of the
principal edifice.

I am sorry to say, that while the family man-
sion was under the superintendence of my friend,
Billy Conolly, it suffered some dilapidation ; the
thatch was a little discomposed, and a wad of hay
or straw occasionally performed the office of a
pane of glass. The little embarrassments of
love and war, in which he had been so un-
luckily involved, had very much disturbed his
domestic arrangements ; and at the period when
he took the field under the command of the
" ugly divil of a drill-serjeant," Castle Conolly
would have been pronounced by any responsible
architect of our time, as by no means in tenant-
able repair.

As Conolly now approached the house of his
father, he was not a little surprised at the im-
provement which it had undergone since he had
seen it. The spirit of decency and decoration,
through the agency of Biddy Farrell, had in-
deed done much for its exterior respectability,
as well as its interior comfort. The walls looked
as neat as white -wash could make them ; and
sweet-briar and honey-suckle trained to over-
hang the door way, gave it a look of ease and
happiness, which strongly impressed the pas-

OLDCOURT. 3

senger ; because, when there is distress within,
people never think of adorning the outside of a
house.

Conolly's heart acknowledged the presiding
genius of Biddy Farrell, while it throbbed with
emotion as he approached the ever open door.
For a moment he stood unobserved, to calm his
feelings, before he entered under the roof that
had sheltered him so long, and that " somethin'
so often tould him he should never see a^^rain."

His mother was seated in a large wicker chair,
in her old place, the chimney-corner, though it
was summer. She was neatly dressed In her
holyday gown ; and, according to the long estab-
lished costume amongst old w^omen of her class
in Ireland, with a clean coloured handkerchief,
formed into a kind of cap or hood on her head,
and tied under her chin. Her hands were occu-
pied by her beads, and she seemed intent upon
her prayers, by the motion of her lips, evi-
dently repeating them to herself. A large tabby
cat sat purring at her feet, with that blinking
look of satisfaction which those feline favourites
wear, wdien, like other pampered animals, they
are allowed to slumber out their lives in a
sinecure.

The apartment which served for kitchen and
parlour was altogether w^ell ordered and provided ;

4 OLDCOURT.

with some attention to objects of convenience,
beyond the ordinary exigencies of rustic Hfe in
Ireland. The dresser made a respectable show
of delph, and well scoured wooden platters.
There was a cuckoo clock ticking in a corner ;
and some sweet pea, myrtle sprigs, and stock
gilly-flowers, diffused their fragrance from a
window, where, with their stalks in water, they
leaned their heads gracefully over the brim of a
brown earthen -ware mug.

Conolly, at first sight of his mother, was sur-
prised to find she was so much shorter in stature,
than when he last saw her. At an advanced
period of Hfe, the spine (from causes which,
if the reader will only step into St. Thomas's
Hospital, for a few minutes, Mr. Abernethy
will clearly explain to him,) begins to be
shortened through its whole length ; and such a
general drying in of the v/hole system takes
place, that many persons who have been tall,
portly, and respectable in early and middle life,
are found to degenerate sadly, and become little,
shrivelled up, withered old men and women, be-
fore they die.

Now a process of this kind had been going on
for a long time with the widow Conolly; and
a very considerable reduction, during her son's
absence, was the consequence. Not being much

OLDCOURT.

of a natural philosopher, however, he was by
no means prepared for the change ; and when
the diminutive anatomy of his once portly
parent first struck his eye, an involuntary ex-
clamation burst from him, but luckily in an
under tone, to the following effect : —

" O blessed Savour ! why there isn't the half
of the poor woman there!" He was, never-
theless, satisfied of his mother's identity, though
upon a smaller scale than he expected ; and
after a moment's pause of filial emotion, he
crossed the threshold, and addressed her : —

" Would there be one widow ConoUy, ma'm,
living any where here about, I \vonder ?"

To this question Mrs. Conolly, without alter-
ing her position, quietly replied : —

"Why, then, indeed, yes, and many' s the long
day she has borne that name, for want of a
betther ; but" putting on her spectacles and turn-
ing round, " who is it axes for her now ?"

The moment her decayed vision discovered
the garb of a soldier, she exclaimed, starting in
her chair, with a countenance of anxiety and
eagerness : —

" The heavens purtect my poor boy ! but sure
a sodger's news has life or death in it for me,
now ;" with clasped hands adding, " Oh, tell me ;
tell me of my child !"

b OLDCOURT.

ConoUy, at first, thought that his mother re-
cognised him ; but, perceiving his mistake, and
somewhat alarmed at her agitation, he at once
allayed her apprehensions by saying,—

" Why, then, if Billy Conolly is your boy, you
may make yourself asy ; for I can tell you, he is as
well as I am."

" The blessin's of heaven on you ! night and
day, for that word of comfort to the widow's
heart/' exclaimed the poor woman; " the Lord
be for ever praised for all his marcies !" dropping
on her knees and praying aloud.

Conolly w^as so much affected at the evidence
of his mother's love for him, which her agitation
betrayed, that with difficulty could he persevere
in the part which he had assigned to himself;
and, indeed, if age had not dulled a Httle the
" very faculty of eyes and ears," she m.ust have
discovered him in his emotions. But he was
anxious to prepare her, in some degree, for his
wooden leg, before he made himself known to her.

" Then," said his mother, rising from her
knees, and turning to Conolly, " you knew my
poor Billy, did you, sir?"

" Knew him," replied Conolly, " faith then
that you may say — as well as I know myself ; why
we were always together, and sure I'd go any
w4iere to sarve him,'*

OLDCOURT. /

" Then, God rewai-d you for it !" rejoined the
old woman ; " and sure I'm for ever obhged to
you/'

" Deed, then, you need'nt,atall, Mrs. Conolly/'
rephed her son ; " becase it's for his own sake I'd
do it, and a good right he has to expect it from
me."

" And how" continued she, " has the poor boy
come off in those terrible wars? I've often been
afeard of him, becase I knev;, when there was
fightin' goin' on, he'd never be asy'tilihe was in
the thick of it ; for that was always his way, though
he was as paceable and sweet timpered a boy as
ever lived. Oh ! then, was he pure an' hearty, sir,
when you left him ?"

" Oh I yes, indeed, bravely," replied Conolly ;
" all alive an' kickin' ; though to be sure, as to
kickin', I can't say much, becase he's not in such
very good foot -ball trim as he used to be; indeed,
we've been mighty lucky sure enough, considerin',
and have no rason to complain any how."

Now, the widow Conolly having observed the
wooden leg of her visitor, with the patch over one
eye, and the scar over the other, had conceived a
notion, that he had very great reason to complain,
and was by no means, so fortunate as he seemed
to consider himself ; she was. therefore, rather
alarmed than assured, by his expression of self-

8 OLDCOURT.

congratulation ; and, as the fears of affection are
easily roused, she fell back in her chair, and
exclaimed, — ■

" Oh God! my child is wounded — I'm sure
my child is wounded."

" Wounded !" rejoined Conolly; *' why, then,
didn't I tell you this minit, he was quite brave
an' hearty ; an* as for a bit of a wound, what sig-
nifies that ? A sodger ought to have a wound, to
show he has done his juty. On'y think of a
sodger coming home from the wars without a
wound ! why he ought to be ashamed of himself.
Whin the officers have their stars an' their
meddles, the laste a sodger can have, is his w^ound
to show for the honour of the cloth."

The wddow Conolly groaned aloud ; and, look-
ing dow^n sorrowfully at the wooden leg before
her, said, —

" Oh ! tell me, for the love of Heaven ! if he has
all his precious limbs safe and sound V

" His limbs?'* replied Conolly, with some
hesitation ; "Oh yes, indeed, his limbs are all
purty safe, on'y just except one ; but he doesn't
mind it at all, and walks quite as well as I do."

Though Conolly rather obscurely hinted at
his misfortune, his mother understood him, and
wringing her hands, exclaimed, —

" Oh, Merciful Father ! my poor boy ! my poor

OLDCOURT.

boy ! his leg is gone, I know his leg is gone. Oh,
how shall I ever tell Biddyl — the cruel murtherin'
villains ! The curse of C rum' ell light on 'em
that robbed my poor boy of his leg I an' a nate an'
a pmty leg it was. Oh, what a shock for poor
Biddy !"

Gonolly was surprised to find, that his cautious
mode of breaking his misfortune to his mother,
had not been more successful in softening her
sense of it. But, when she spoke of the shock
which it would give Biddy Farrell, it seemed
to be such a confirmation of all his fears, that he
felt as if sentence had been pronounced upon
him ; and almost bursting with a mixed emotion
of grief, mortification, and pique, he observed,
his lip quivering as he spoke, and tears starting
from his eyes, —

" May be then, ma'm, Billy Conolly had
betther not come home, since he can't bring his
two legs along with him. He doesn't want to
shock any body, I'm sure, any how."

" O then !" rephed Mrs. Conolly, " will he
ever come home to his poor ould mother, whose
heart bleeds for him, and who'll on'y love him the
betther for his cruel misfortune V

" Why, then, you're mighty unrasonable,"
added Conolly ; " sure, I thought I was bringin'
you home news of your boy, that would plase you^
b2

10 OLDCOURT.

entirely, instead of your takin* on in this way for
nothin', on'y becase one of his legs walks upon
stilts. I wondher how you'd like if your son
came home to you without his head, let alone his
leg, like poor Tom Waters of our regiment."

" Oh, Christ save us and bless us !" said Mrs.
Conolly, crossing herself.

" Ay," continued Conolly, " an' as clane a
lad as you'd see in a mile's ridin' ; an' though an
Englishman, one that liked his joke as well as if
he had been born with a praty in his mouth.
There we were, altogether, before the inimy, and
they a firin' away at us, like smoke, an' we not
suffered to budge, to get at one of 'em ; when in
a minit', before you could say Jack Robison,
comes a thumpin' shot, an' clips one of poor
Tom's wings. * Never mind, lads,' says the brave
fellow, lookin' at the stump. ' D — n my eyes,'
(an Englishman always d — ns his eyes an' limbs)
' d — n my eyes if they haven't made a mistake,
an' taken the wrong arm ; for I've got the riglU
one still ;' but the words were hardly out of
his mouth, when the leg was knocked from
under him, an' shortened by a foot. " Why,
then," says poor Tom, "you can't expect me
to stand that, any how ;" and down he went
sure enough.

Well, we didn't like to lave the poor fellow

OLDCOURT. 11

there, to be mashed to a mummy, by horse and
futt, may be, the next minit'; becase we all Hked
him, an' so we whips him into an ould baggage
cart, an' yokes a couple of drum-boys to it, to
bring him to the doctor. Tom gave us a hurra!
goin' off, sittin'upin the cart, and said, "God bless
you, boys, if I don't see you again ;" an' sure
enough, when they came to lift him out of the
cart for the doctors, they found that poor Tom
had left his head behind him on the way.'*

" Oh," continued Conolly, affected by his own
story, and dashing a tear from his eye, " he was
a true-hearted Englishman, and wou'd stand up
for ould Ireland, just like any boy of us all.''

This little military memoir was well calculated
to reconcile Mrs. Conolly to the comparative
good fortune of her son, and accordingly, after
listening to it with the deepest interest, and divers
ejaculations of horror, she piously exclaimed : —
" The Lord's will be done I and sure, it 'ill be a
great marcy if ever I see my child ahve at all, after
such murtherin' VNork."

"Yes, indeed, Mrs. Conolly," said her son,
" whin a sodger brings home his head upon his
shoulders, he's a mighty lucky fellow, and his
friends ought to be very glad to see him. But
your son tould me he behaved verv badly, and

1 2 OLDCOURT.

desarted you in your ould days, and may be, that's
the rason he's not so welcome with a wooden leg
as a gold chain."

" Oh, welcome, welcome will he be to me as
the flowers in May, — as the life's blood to my
heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Conolly; "he was the
best of sons. But the poor boy was heart-broken
entirely, and he left me on'y when he thought to
run away from himself."

" Then you'd be glad to see him," said Conolly,
" even with such a timber-toe under him as this ?"
tapping his wooden leg with his stick.

" Glad to see him I" ejaculated the poor woman,
bursting into tears; " it's all I ax of Heaven in this
world — it's my prayer night an' mornin', that I
may be spared till my darlin' child comes home
to close my eyes, an' lay me in my grave,"

" May be, then, you'd see him sooner than you
think," said Conolly, turning away to wipe the
tears from his eyes, pulling off his hat with the
patch that was attached to it, and resuming his
own voice, which he had endeavoured to disguise;
then dropping on his knee, and overcome with emo-
tion, he sobbed out, — " Look at me, dear mother !
see your poor crippled boy before you, an' take him
again to your heart, for he's had neither luck nor
pace since he left you, till this blessed minit."

OLDCOURT. 13

The sudden surprise and emotion of his mother,
deprived her for a moment of speech ; she looked
earnestly in his face, as if to recal his features
to her recollection, and suddenly exclaiming, —

" My child, my child!" she fell upon his neck,
and they mingled their tears in mutual embraces.

14 OLDCOUR'^.

CHAPTER II.

The first emotions of joy, sorro\>% or surprise,
upon any sudden occurrence, calculated to
excite those feelings, are of a nature too inter -
jectional and exclamatory, to be detailed with
much advantage. I have not, therefore, allowed
myself to dwell on the interesting position in
which Billy Conolly and his mother were placed,
at the close of the last chapter ; nor shall I at-
tempt what must be a feeble description of their
mutual delight in meeting again, after so long a
separation.

As soon, however, as the first ebullition of
feeling on both sides had in some degree sub-
sided, and they were sufnciently calm to talk
connectedly of their concerns, Mrs. Conolly
proceeded to inform her son, of the more than
filial attention and regard she had met with from
Biddy Farrell ; the narration, occasionally in-

OLDCOURT. 15

terlarded with divers asseverations, that " she
was a jewel of the world/' " a saint upon earth/'
^nd lastly, " an angel from heaven."

Mrs. Conolly further declared, that " next to
her own dear boy, Biddy Farrell w^as her darhng
child ; and blessed be the name |>' the Lord !
her boy was now come home to make Biddy
her daughter in real earnest, and reward her
for her long attachment to him."

Here, poor Conolly sighed heavily, and cast-
ing a melancholy glance at his wooden leg,
hinted to his mother his apprehensions, that his
altered appearance might produce a change un-
favourable to him in the mind of Biddy Farrell,
and convert her love into pity, or even dislike ;
"becase/' said he, "you know, mother, lam
not the same man T was afore, for a girl's eye ;
and you tould me yourself how shocked she'd be
to see me."

" Oh ! not to see you," answered his mother,
with eagerness and surprise ; " but to know of-
your misfortune, and sorely shocked she'll be,
poor thing, like myself ; but not for her own
sake ; oh ! not for her own sake, Billy, but for
your's."

The good w^oman now earnestly expatiated
on the long and unshaken affection which Biddy
Farrell had shown her son ; the many good offers

] 6 OLDCOURT.

which she had rejected for his sake ; for, " ever
since the poor father's death, there was not a
boy of any pretensions in the village, nor for
live miles round, that was not makin' up to her,
not on'y for herself, but the spolien that was
left to her, and which she was every day spend-
in' to make her (the widow Conolly,) comfortable
in her ould age."

Conolly was equally delighted and cheered
by this account of his mistress; but his con-
science smote him, when he reflected how un-
worthy he was, when compared with her ; and
he felt her conduct to his mother doubly, from
the contrast it afforded to his own desertion of
her.

Mrs. Conolly almost resented the suspicion
that any personal change in her son could shake
Biddy Farrell's affection for him. " All ! Billy,
dear," said she, "that's the differ bechune the
man's love and the woman's ; and a very great
differ it is. A woman's eye may like, but 'tis her
heart that loves; and 'tis the heart alone she
loves ; the true and generous heart, and not the
poor clay that covers it ; for kindness wins her
more than comeliness, and words will wheedle
her, when looks would fail."

The widow Conolly had just entered on her
favourite topic ; and as her side of the question

OLDCOURT. 1 7

was incontestibly the strongest, and she had at
her command the most agile instrument of con-
troversy, she, without doubt, would have pro-
duced a powerful effect upon her son, and proved
to him the superior purity and disinterestedness
of the passion of love, in the female breast, if
the course of her observations had not been
interrupted, by the sudden entrance of Jenny
Burne, who came, according to her promise, to
give timely notice to Billy Conolly of Biddy
FarrelFs approach.

This intelligence threw poor Conolly into
great agitation, and renewed all his apprehen-
sions, just at the moment, when his mother's
eloquence had nearly convinced him that they
were wholly unfounded.

After a hurried deliberation, (if I may be al-
lowed the use of so contradictory a phrase), it
was determined, that Conolly should withdraw
into the adjoining apartment of the mansion ;
a comfortable bed-chamber, in which he could
overhear every thing that passed, and wait till
Biddy Farrell should be apprised of his return,
and of the peculiar circumstances, which he so
much feared might influence her feelings with
respect to him.

This arrangement had scarcely been agreed
upon, when Jenny Burne, peeping out, cried.

18 OLDCOURT.

" Hush, hush, be quick, Mr. Conolly, or you'll
be cotch." He had just time to disappear with
his knapsack, when Biddy Farrell entered the
cottage.

Though Mrs. Conolly had resumed her ordi-
nary position in her wicker chair, and Jenny
had endeavoured to assume that unruffled, every-
day aspect, which is suited to the dull monotony
of life, yet there was a flush in the old woman's
countenance, and a sort of half-suppressed
fluster and busy embarrassment about them
both, which indicated the occurrence of some-
thing unusual. Mrs. Conolly, too, was rather
more dehghted to see her darling, than appeared
absolutely necessary, after so short an absence.

Jenny was a great friend and favourite in the
cottage, and her presence was nothing extra-
ordinary ; but she seemed so much to overdo
demureness, a quality of manners, by no means
natural to her, that Biddy Farrell was struck by
something she could not understand in their
appearance. Taking off her neat bonnet and
cloak, and looking inquisitively from one to the
other, she said, — " Why, then, you look mighty
quare, both of you : it's my belief, mother,
there's somethin' bechune you and Jenny that
I'm consarned in, she looks so sly ; but may be,
I'd have my sacret as well as other people ; and

OLDCOURT. 19

Tve a great mind not to tell j^ou^ tho' I'm so
plased; I can't well keep it to myself.*'

Now, the widow Conolly and Jenny Burne,
being quite full of their own secret, took it for
granted, that no other could possibly be alluded
to by Biddy ; and as they could by no means
account for her having any information on a
subject, which they thought safely confined to
their own keeping, they both together, with up-
lifted hands, and eyes wide opened, exclaimed, —
" My gracious! then, Biddy, have you heard it?"

To this question, with a corresponding stare
of surprise and wonder, Biddy replied, — " Heard
what?" Then, with a half-upbraiding look at
her friend, —

" Ah, then, Jenny ! is it mad you're goin'
entirely? Why, goodness me! what could I
hear, but v;hat Father Cassidy tould me ; an'
what do you think that was?" Her hearers
having acknowledged their inability to guess, and
their eagerness to be informed, Biddy proceeded : —

" Well, the ould gentleman is gettin' purely
again; an' when he was takin' his tay, he says to
me, quite pleasant, ' Well, my good child, have
you heard from your scapegrace of a lover lately?'
An' so I says, ' No, indeed, your riverence, not
for many a long day, an' we're gettin' quite
unasy ; for, indeed, he's not a bad boy, an' you

20 OLDCOURT.

know I takes the blame of his goin' away on my-
self entirely; an' sure if your riverence would
on'y say a prayer for him to come home to us
safe an' sound again, I'd be for ever obliged to
you/ ' Well, well/ says the good, kind soul,
laughing, ' I see how it is, Biddy ; I must pray
for him amongst all sinners ; and may be, I may
live to marry you to him when he returns, since
you are resolved to have nobody else/ Oh ! it
cheered my heart to hear him talk so kindly of
poor Billy ; an' now, my dear mother, you've
my sacret, put me out of pain, for I'm sure
you've got somethin' to tell me/'

With all due caution and mystery, Biddy was
now informed, that by means of a soldier, who
had called in her absence, intelligence had been
received, that Billy Conolly was not only well,
but on his road home ; and so far advanced on
his journey, that he might be expected to arrive
in a day or two at the village.

This news the kind-hearted girl received with
every manifestation of joy, that is natural to pure
affection and unsophisticated feelings ; she ran
through the whole gamut of ejaculations, and
poured forth her thanksgivings, through all the
parts of speech.

There is no doubt, indeed, if she had moved
in those superior circles of society, where such

OLDCOURT. 21

an exhibition of sensibility appears to be appro-
priate, that the elegant affection of the nerves,
called hysterics, would not have been wanting in
the diversified display of her emotion.

In the first impulse of her delight, she threw
her arms round the old woman's neck, and wept,
and laughed, and sobbed, exclaiming, " that her
prayers were heard at last, and that her dear
mother would be happy again." Suddenly, how-
ever, as if recollecting herself, in the midst of her
congratulations, she said, in a serious and half-
dispirited tone, as if communing with her own
thoughts ; " But this is no place for me now ;
and, Jenny Burne, you'll let me in with you for
a little while, I know." Jenny looked surprised;
and Mrs. Conolly, in a voice of alarm, exclaimed, —
" Oh, then, Biddy, jewel, wou'd you be lavin' me
that way, jist at the time when I thought you'd
never quit me more, and I'd have somebody
to help me to reward you for all your kind-
ness?"

" My dear Mrs. Conolly," said Biddy —

" Oh call me mother again, if you hav'n't a
mind to kill me," said the old woman, w^ith great
emotion.

" My dear mother, then," continued Biddy,
" Mr. Conolly is coming to his own home, an'
it's not proper for me to set myself up as a fix-

22 OLDCOURT.

ture in it, without so much as sayin' 'by your
lave.' Besides/' added she, with a sigh, " you
know he has been to foreign parts, an' seen
other guess folk than we are ; and may be, he's a
very different man now from what he was when
he thought of the likes o' me."

The tears stood in her eye, at the close of the
sentence ; and, excited by her previous emotion,
she again sunk upon the old woman's shoulder,
and repeated, — " Yes, my dear, dear mother ! he
may be a different man to me now ; and you
wouldn't have me force myself upon him, any
how."

The effect of poor Biddy's observation was
more powerful than she supposed, on all the
parties who heard it ; and, confident as Mrs.Co-
noUy w^as of the generous character of the poor
girl's affection for her son, she felt a sort of
superstitious apprehension, from the peculiar
terms she made use of in speaking of him.
Shaking her head mournfully, then, she said, —

" Oh, my darhn' child, it is he that has causs
to fear that you may find him a different man
from what he was ; and sore it grieves him for
your sake. The wars have changed him sadly,
Biddy, and they say, he's not the likely boy that
left us fresh and bloomin' ; but sure he needn't
fear ; you're not the girl to value him the less.

OLDCOURT. 23

becase he bears the marks o' bleedin' for his
country."

Daring this speech, poor Biddy appeared to
undergo the greatest agitation ; she turned pale —
she trembled from head to foot. Struck by the '
altered aspect of the old voman and Jenny
Burne, ^vho seemed to be almost as much moved
as Biddy herself, she clasped her hands, in an
agony of apprehension, and exclaimed, " O God !
for what do you prepare me I — ^Yhat am I to
think ? Ans^s'er me, dear mother ! answer me ;
does he live, an' does he love me still ? What
else on earth do I regard ? "

They now explained to her the nature of Co-
nolly's disaster ; and it seemed a relief to her to
find it was no worse.

" Oh, my poor Billy," she cried, " m.y brave,
my generous soldier! an' have I to answer for
this, as well as the rest of your maisfortunes ? —
Will he ever forgive me, and can I ever forgive
myself? On'y let him bring his heart home to
me, — his kind, his honest heart, it's all I ask."

Then starting from her seat, as if a sudden
thought had struck her, she exclaimed, —

" But where is he ? I'm sure he's come home ;
an'. Heavenly Father I does he suspect me of
such summ.er love as that comes to? — me; who'd
lay down my life for him this minit ; — who'd go

24 OLDCOURT.

through fire an' water for him ; — who'd watch for
him an' work for him ; — who'd lead him from
house to house if he was bhnd ; or beg with him,
in rags, from door to door."

This passionate expression of her attachment
was too much for Billy Conolly ; he could re-
strain himself no longer. Throwing open the
door of the room to which he had retired, he ad-
vanced, exclaiming, —

-Oh, Biddy, Biddy!"

She gave a loud scream — in a moment they
were locked in each others embrace, and she
fainted in his arms.

It is related of a celebrated painter of old, that
despairing to represent, with full eflfect, the pas-
sion which the principal figure of his groupe ought
to express, he had recourse to the expedient of
covering the face with the hands, and leaving to
the imagination of the spectator, to supply the
deficiency. Now, though much controversy has
taken place on the question, whether the pre-
ceden:: estabhshed by the artist, in this instance,
be, or be not, a legitimate resource of the art ; and
though I am inclined to think that this ingenious
mode of getting over the difficulty, and inducing
the spectator to take up the pencil, and finish the
most important part of the picture, according to
to his own fancy, is not very creditable to the

OLDCOURT. 25

skill of the painter or the powers of the art ; yet, I
fear, I must follow the example of Timanthes on
the present occasion, and leave the reader to con-
ceive the various modes in which the sweet pas-
sion of love betrayed itself, in the joyful looks and
affectionate words which distinguished the meet-
ing between Billy Conolly and his mistress.

Certain it is, that he very soon felt relieved
from all apprehensions, as to any unfavourable
effect from his personal deficiency.

The mutilated state of her lover seemed onlv
to render the generous girl more ardent in her
attachment to him, and more unreserved in
the avowal of her love. Her heart told her, that
any backwardness or unnecessary delicacy, under
such circumstances, might possibly be mistaken,
and would certainly be unkind.

She declared, with great energ)', " that the
brave fellow who gave one leg to his countrv,
might stand boldly on the other, even before the
king himself ; and for her part, she took more
pride in the wooden leg, than in the leg of flesh
and blood ; though she would say, there was not
such another nate ankle to be found in the whole
barony."

Indeed, after a few day's rest, the influence of
happy feelings so brightened up and reanimated
the whole man, that when the honours of his

VOL. III. C

26 OLDCOURT.

head had been restored to their natural state, the
civil costume resumed, and, as far as possible,
those rural graces recovered, by which, he had first
found favour in Biddy Farrell's eyes, it was uni-
versally acknowledged, that Conolly was " ahi:iost
as likely a boy as ever ; and on'y for the W' ooden
leg, w^ouldn't be at all the worse for w^ear."

As soon as his arrival became generally known
in the village, all his early friends flocked arovmd
him ; and he was now too much pleased himself,
to recollect, with displeasure, the mortifications
to w^hich he had been at first exposed. Jock
Casey w^as restored to favour; having taken
the sting out of his satire, and propitiated his
old school-fellow by declaring, " that he knew
him at the first cock of his eye, and on'y thought
to have a bit of fun wath him for trying to dis-
guise himself." Even the miller's man, now no
longer viewed as a rival, Conolly, in the fulness
of his heart, cordially shook by the hand ; though
it was said to be some time before he could quite
forget " the ould fogie."

Father Cassidy was soon sohcited by the lovers,
for the sanction of the church to their attach-
ment. The virtuous conduct of Biddy Farrell
had excited in the mind of that worthy clergy-
man, a strong interest in her favour; and he had,
from some little irregularities in Conolly 's early

OLDCOURT. 27

proceedings, which have been before alluded to,
taken a prejudice against him ; but a highly
honourable certificate and discharge from his
colonel, with a strong recommendation from
Sir Walter D'Arcy, placed Conolly's character
in such an advantageous light, that the reverend
gentleman no longer hesitated to perform the
office required of him. The lodge at Killorgan
Hall, was, by order of his master, fitted up for
Conolly's residence ; to which he, with his wife
and mother, removed immediately after the mar-
riage. An allowance from Sir Walter, the out-
pension of Chelsea Hospital, and the spolieene of
Biddy Farrell, united, formed an income more
than equal to their wants. The widow was re-
warded for all her cares, by seeing her children so
comfortable and contented; and Billy Conolly
himself, declared, that " something always tould
him, he'd be happy at last with Biddy Farrell."

28 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER TIT.

Having placed Billy ConoUy in circumstances
so much to his satisfaction, and left him and his
better half in the enjoyment of as much felicity
as love, competence, and content, can be ex-
pected to produce in an humble station, it is
necessary now to return to his master, whose
position, w^hen we last observed him, appeared to
be by no means congenial to his feelings, or flat-
tering to his hopes.

After a very impatient inquiry into his affairs.
Sir Walter D'Arcy discovered, that his father's
extravagance and his own, with the aid of the
law, (an ever ready instrument for such a pur-
pose,) had succeeded in reducing a very large
estate to a very small income ; and that the
various ingenious devices by w-hich bad land-
lords are enabled to rack their tenants, and elude
their creditors, were so completely exhausted.

OLDCOURT. 29

that his only resource appeared to be, the practice
of a virtue which he had never exercised in his
Viie, and which was totally incompatible with his
habits and pursuits — economy.

Though disposed to be quite as extravagant,
he was not so unprincipled as his father ; there
was nothing mercenary in his character : he
even entertained some general notions that it
was proper for a gentleman to pay his debts, if
he had the money; a point, upon which Sir Pa-
trick, if we may judge from his practice, appeared
to have formed a very different opinion. He
was, indeed, a true patron of the legal profession,
and would never pay a debt, if he could help it,
but through a process of law.

But our hero, though as one of the nati
consumer e Jruges, he belonged to a class who
complacently take it for granted, that, according
to the natural order of things, they and their
posterity are privileged to be idle, useless, and
luxurious, to the end of time ; — though, as one
of the lords of the soil, and partaking of the
spirit which actuates many of that body, at least
in Ireland, he looked upon a tenant as little bet-
ter than a slave ; whose business it is, to make the
land as productive as possible to his master, with
the least possible benefit to himself; — though he
had never troubled his head to consider the

30 OLDCOURT.

Structure of human society, or the duties which
belong to the different ranks and degrees of
which it is composed ; yet, he had a natural
generosity of sentiment, — a lofty sense of what
is due to the dignity of a gentleman of ancient
family, which made him revolt against the chi-
canery of law, and the artifices by which the
resources of extravagance are too often reple-
nished.

His own money he would squander wdth the
most thoughtless profusion ; or he would run in
debt, so long as he had even a vague conviction
that, at some future time, he would be able to
pay; but he had too much pride to adopt the
mean shifts and evasions, which are sometimes
resorted to, even by those who call themselves
persons of honour; but who, in pursuing their
profligate habits at the expense of the honest
and industrious part of the community, show
themselves to be not only spendthrifts, but
swindlers.

When, therefore, D'Arcy had clearly ascer-
tained that the encumbrances on his estate had
diminished his means so much more than he
expected, he at once laid aside, for the present
at least, all thoughts of keeping up the expensive
establishment of his family in Dublin. In this
resolution he was strengthened by his mother

OLDCOURT. 31

and sister, who desired nothing more in this
world, than the country, tranquilhty, and prayer.

The harpies of the law, however, hy whom he
was surrounded, and who expected to continue
the feast which his father had so long provided
for them, were equally displeased and disap-
pointed at his projected scheme of retrench-
ment. D'Arcy had been, indeed, surprised to
observe, from the first, that the utmost ingenuity
of his legal advisers was invariably directed to
one end ; — how he could most successfully resist
the claims of his creditors. Friends, agents,
attorneys, stewards, et hoc genus omne, seemed
to take it for granted, that he could have no
other object ; and that his great ambition must
be, to spend as much, and pay as little, as
possible.

But, when they found that he had less taste
for law than for justice, and heard him declare,
with great warmth, on being teazed with some
suggestions of litigious delay in the adjustment
of his affairs, that " the only bill he was re-
solved never to pay, while he could avoid it, was
a Inll of costs," they began to consider him as
degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors,
and wholly insensible to the advantages of a
system, by which law is made a luxury for the

32 OLDCOURT.

rich, and a terror to the poor, — a system, which
entangles truth in the mazes of sophistry, and
renders justice at once unintelligible in its jar-
gon, and unattainable in its delay.

Entertaining, therefore, very little respect for
"the perfection of human reason," and deter-
mined to extricate himself and his affairs, if pos-
sible, from the toils of litigation, he at once as-
signed the principal part of his income for the
payment of his encumbrances, and retired with
his mother and sister to the family mansion.

Though he was desirous to avoid all parade
and expense on his arrival at Killorgan Hall, yet,
he was rather surprised, and very much mortified,
to find how little interest his presence there ex-
cited. There were no greetings of good will
amongst the tenantry — no manifestations of joy
or hope, on the part of the surrounding popula-
tion, usually warm-hearted and enthusiastic on
such occasions. He was allowed to indulge in
the most undisturbed privacy, and was evidently
regarded by his dependents, as an object of appre-
hension and distrust, rather than of respect or
affection.

Billy Conolly, who had been just established
in his post at the lodge, was still more provoked
than his master, at the apathy which prevailed

OLDCOURT. 33

among " the boys of the barony," on an occasion
which he considered so important. He loudly
declared it was " a sin and a shame, that Master
Maurice should come home to the sate of his
ould ancestors, with no more noise nor the muffle
of a dead march, at a sodger's berrin ; and that
not a shout or a shilelah should be raised to his
honour, nor the blaze of a bon-fire to welcome
him, no more nor if he was the parson of the
parish."

D'Arcy had been, by no means, aware of the
extent of his father's unpopularity, and was igno-
rant how far his desire to "work his interest in
the county" had prompted him to the adoption
of measures for that purpose, which involved him
in the double discredit of an apostate and an op-
pressor.

Clinging, themselves, with a desperate fidehty,
to their long persecuted faith, the lower orders of
the Catholics looked with little indulgence on a
deserter from their ranks, even of the humblest
degree ; but, when the representative of an ancient
race — a chieftain of the old stock, was tempted to
adopt the state religion, they regarded him as a
traitor, not not only to his creed, but to his
country : they considered him as dishonouring
the ashes, and denouncing the souls of his ances-
c2

34 OLDCOURT.

tors ; as disgracing his name,* and degrading his
family to the vulgar level of an upstart and puri-
tanical generation.

The rustic population of D'Arcy's neighbour-
hood looked upon him as professing sentiments
similar to those of his father ; and as they took
it for granted, he would be equally desirous to
" work his interest in the county," they were led
to apprehend consequences more injurious to their
interests from his sway amongst them, than from
that of his predecessor, in proportion as his time
of life was more vigorous, and his ambition, pro-
bably, more energetic.

But though even the appearance of kindness
will draw from the Irish peasant the warmest de-
monstrations of gratitude and attachment, the
apprehension of enmity, or the danger of oppres-
sion, can never extort from him any flattering
marks of reverence or respect. The young ba-
ronet, however, saw with regret, that he was
looked upon as an enemy ; and that although he

* Wbea a descendant of the ancient, or Milesian race, sucli
as the O'Briens, the O'Connors, the O'Gormans, the
O'Shees, or the O'Shaughnessy's, — deserted from the na-
tional faith, it was a common expression of contempt and
reprobation amongst the people to exclaim : " Why, then,
that's a mighty purty name to go to church with !"

OLDCOURT. 35

could alarm the fears, he had no hold of the af-
fections of those amonsist whom, from the warm
and generous feelings of youth, he would have
liked to be popular.

Lady D'Arcy perceived the mortified feeling
which his reception amongst his tenantry, had
excited in her son ; and her piety took the oppor-
tunity of introducing some observations referring
to the unhappy cause of their ahenation from the
interests of the family.

" His poor father," she said, " had made great
sacrifices to worldly views, and had thrown away
the hearts of his own people, not to mention ob-
jects of much higher interest, without obtaining
any thing in return, which could benefit him here,
or hereafter. She hoped and trusted, her dear
son would weigh matters well, before it would be
too late, and not set too high a value on the
perishable goods of this life."

With many more observations, equally pious
and persuasive, to all of which the young baronet
listened with the most patient and respectful ui-
attention, considering the old lady's anxiety for
his spiritual welfare, as an amiable weakness,
wliich was excusable at least, if not enter-
taining.

But though very little impressed by the re-
ligious considerations which his mother presented

36 OLDCOURT.

to him, D'Arcy felt very deeply, the loss of that
gratifying homage and general estimation, which,
as the head of an ancient family, he regarded as
belonging to his state, and not the least valuable
part of his inheritance.

The pride of ancestry possessed a strong in-
fluence on his character ; and all the associations
connected with patriarchal authority, and high
hereditary claims, were interwoven with the
earliest impressions of his childhood. For the
first time of his life, therefore, he entertained a
doubt of the policy of his father's conversion to
the established church, and his own adoption of
the same sentiments.

He had been too ardent in the pursuit of
pleasure, to trouble himself much wdth religion
or politics ; and his principles hung sufficiently
loose about him in each, to make him regard,
with ridicule and contempt, the controversies of
both. But he was very reluctant to be shorn of
those beams of popularity, which, in Ireland,
glow round the head of him who inherits the
honours, and adheres to the faith of his ancestors.
He began to think, that in forsaking the an-
cient creed of his country, the dignity of his
family was impaired ; that he had lost caste,
as it were, and could no longer lay claim to that
lofty pre-eminence — that untainted antiquity.

OLDCOUKT. 37

which characterised the religion, as well as the
rank of his progenitors.

In short, under the influence of the disap-
pointment and mortification of the moment,
he had nearly persuaded himself, not, with
Lord Chesterfield, that the CathoUc is " the
only religion in which God Almighty is wor-
shipped like a gentleman ;" but that it is the
only religion which it becomes the character of
a gentleman to profess ; and that a new faith,
like a new family, however pure and respectable,
can have no claim to that high dignity, and
reverential homag^i w^hich must ever be asso-
ciated with the blood and the belief of an ancient
race.

In this sensitive state of contention between
the pride of the Milesian, and the policy of the
Protestant, his adherence to the new church
w^ould have been in some danger, from, his pa-
triotism, at least, if not from his piety, if the
open profession of the ancient faith, did not
threaten him with two consequences which
he particularly deprecated : — religious dissen-
sion with his friends, who were all Pro-
testants, and much personal inconvenience to
himself.

He was a httle irritated, too, at what he con-
ceived the over-hasty prepossession entertained

38 OLDCOURT.

against him by his Cathohc neighbours ; for as
he had really no prejudices against them, and no
intention whatever, to prosecute any interest of
his own at their expense, he thought they ought
not so readily, to have taken it for granted, that
he was as much their enemy as his father.

To say the truth, if D'Arcy could be said to
have any religious bias at all, it was in favour of
popery. His mother was, what is called in
Ireland, a voteen, or devotee ; a character which
is to be found amongst the pious and enthusiastic
part of the fair sex, in all religions ; but, perhaps,
more frequently amongst women of the Catholic
communion than any other.

A voteen is, amongst female religionists, a
person over devout ; w^hose religion is rather a
matter of feeling than of reflection, — who, in
addition to the strictest performance of her
essential duties, lays more stress than is necessary,
upon the forms and unimportant observances of
her creed ; and looks upon a priest with a re-
verential deference and submission, somevv^hat
beyond that enlightened measure of respect, to
which the sanctity of his profession entitles him.

To Lady D'Arcy 's character as a devotee,
however, no discoverable evil in her conduct as a
wife or a mother could be traced. Her over zeal
appeared to have no other effect, than that of

OLDCOURT. 39

stimulating to the highest Christian purity, a na-
turally amiable disposition ; and placing her under
the spiritual direction of a clergyman, whose ex-
emplary life, and disinterested benevolence, ren-
dered the authority which was conceded to,
rather than assumed by him, a blessing to those
over whom it was exercised.

Lady D'Arcy early anticipated the conse-
quences of her husband's laxity in religion and
morals. As far as it was in his power, he had
sacrificed his fortune to his pleasures ; and she
knew, he would sacrifice his faith to his interest,
the moment he conceived the hope, that he might
restore his finances by the change. She was
anxious, therefore, beyond all ordinary solicitude,
to impress on the minds of her children, such
sentiments, as w^ere most likely to fix them in the
faith which she thought so essential to their
welfare.

Her son, in particular, as most likely to be
influenced by his father's example, she dil.i-
gently attended to, while under her care ; and
placed him as soon as possible in Father Cas-
sidy's hands, to receive, at his knee, those lessons
of morality and virtue, which thus early incul-
cated, can never be wholly forgotten in the
conflicts of the world.

The practical efiects, however, of those early

40 OLDCOURT.

precepts, were soon destroyed by the subsequent
neglect of his education, and his unrestricted
intercourse with those who dehght to inflame the
passions, and corrupt the principles of their young
associates. The nursery notions of the Papist,
were soon laughed out of school, and the moral
impressions of the Protestant, as speedily expelled
from college.

D'Arcy had never made any formal renuncia-
tion of the Catholic faith. As his father called
himself a Protestant, he adopted the same religious
designation ; but nobody had ever taken the
trouble to point out to him the difference between
the old and the new creed, and he never felt the
smallest disposition to inquire.

Religious controversy, indeed, was not a fa-
vourite topic amongst the choice spirits with
whom he associated at Oxford ; but, from the
echoes of orthodox revelry, which resounded
on the banks of the Tsis, he soon became conver-
sant with the ordinary common -places that en-
riched and enlivened the sym.posial polemics of
the day. " The glorious, pious, and immortal
memory," — " Popery, slavery, and wooden
shoes," — " The man of sin," — " The beast with
seven heads," — " Antichrist," — " The triple al-
liance between the Pope, the devil, and the Pre-
tender." All these flowers of religious rhetoric

OLDCOURT. 41

"were familiar to him ; and he could listen without
a blush, to the vulgar revilings of theological de-
traction, even under the very roofs of those
gorgeous structures and magnificent establish-
ments, for which, the bigots who uttered them,
were indebted to the religion that they libelled,
and the ancestors whom they defamed.

Occasionally, indeed, in the midst of his dis-
sipations, when he found himself a party to such
orgies, he has felt something like remorse ; and
when he recalled to his memory the lessons of
piety, and virtue impressed upon his childhood by
the amiable parent, and benevolent priest, who
were the only persons that ever seemed to take
an interest in his moral welfare, his heart would
whisper to him, that he was meanly conniving at
an injustice done to the creed and the character
of his forefathers ; and then, in a spirit of gene-
rous indignation, and rational revolt, he would
exclaim : —

" If this be Christianity, — if mutual rage,
rancour, and malevolence be its fruits, — if it
teach Papist, Protestant and Presbyterian, Bap-
tist, Methodist, and Muggletonian, to persecute
each other here, and damn each other hereafter, —
if it convert those who ought to be the ministers
of the God of benevolence and peace, into the

42 OLDCOURT.

foaming blood-hounds of war, running in full cry
of carnage and desolation, to lay waste all the
charities of life amongst friends, neighbours,
fellow- subjects, and fellow-citizens, — if this be
Christianity," he would say, " which, in the face
of it's own tenets, violates all the virtues of the
earth, and anticipates the judgments of heaven, —
then give me, in preference, the comprehensive
benevolence of the Pagan, the mild credulity of
the Hindu, or the creed of Confucius !"

But let us not, like D'Arcy, suffer the harpies
that hover over, and defile the feast of Christianity,
to turn us with disgust from the wholesome food
which it provides for us. Let us rather endeavour
to chase the foul fiends from the sacred banquet,
and direct our reprobation to the system that
engenders, and the poHcy that protects them.

OLDCOURT. 43

CHAPTER IV.

The chagrin which D'Arcy experienced at
Killorgan Hall, and the somhre character of the
society which it afforded, determined him to
shorten his residence there as much as possible.
When, therefore , he had arranged a suitable
establishment for his mother and sister, and ad-
justed such affairs with his tenants and depen-
dents, as more immediately pressed upon his
attention, he returned to the metropolis.

He had, however, but just begun to taste the
social delights of Dublin, for which his long
absence had given him a keen relish, when he
was rather disconcerted by receiving orders to
join immediately the depot of his regiment,
then stationed at Galway, where it was intended,
that the skeleton of the corps lately returned
from America, should be re-clothed with mihtary

44 OLDCOURT.

muscles and sinews from the brawny Milesian
stock.

As D'Arcy did not propose to give up the
army, he was reluctantly obliged to obey ; and
he found in Galway, a reception as cordial as
hospitality could make it, and rather more con-
vivial than he could desire.

Our hero's personal qualities were so pre-
possessing, that he soon became a favourite;
not only with the principal inhabitants of the
town, but also with the most distinguished gentry
of the neighbourhood.

Amongst the latter, was Major Ogle, a gentle-
man who held a commission in a regiment of
fencibles, — a species of miUtary levy, which held
a middle place between the troops of the line
and the militia; but which, possessing neither
the martial dignity of thie one, nor the local
consequence of the other, enjoyed very little
respect among the people.

Major Ogle was a man of some fortune,
a magistrate, and of course, a Protestant, or
rather I should say, of course, not a Papist ;
for the qualification was negative only with re-
spect to popery. He resided within a few miles
of Oldcourt Castle, the mansion of the family
of that name, which was introduced to the reader
in the early part of this work.

OLDCOURT. 46

In the house of Major Ogle, D'Arcy was,
occasionally, a resident for a few days ; and on
one of those visits, when riding out with his
host, on a Sunday morning, through the village
of Oldcourt, during the time of divine service
in the Catholic chapel of that place, the major,
aware of his guest's devotion to the fair sex,
suggested, that they should wait till mass was
over, and D'Arcy would be then gratified by
the sic^ht of one of the most distino:uished belles
of that neighbourhood, Miss Oldcourt ; who,
from her religion, and her loveliness, was com-
monly designated as " the pretty Papist."

D'Arcy had frequently heard Grace Oldcourt
spoken of amongst his Galway friends, as one
of the finest girls in the county ; and he had
even, on more than one occasion, paid to her
health, the convivial homage of a bumper. His
curiosity was, therefore, much excited, and he
gladly assented to the major's proposition.

While they walked their horses backwards and
forwards in view of the chapel, D'Arcy's host drew
his friend's attention to the appearance which it
presented. The structure, to which, in the vil-
lage of Oldcourt, Christian charity, and brotherly
love, had consigned the ancient worship of him
who preached " peace and good-will to man,"
has been already described. Its inadequacy to

46 OLDCOURT.

contain within its barn -like limits, one half of
the congregation that resorted to it, has also
been mentioned, as well as the custom of the
country people, when there was no room within
the edifice, to kneel down in the road-way
leading to its different doors, and perform their
devotions with uncovered heads, in all weathers,
under such inconvenient circumstances.

On the present occasion, the crowd of out-
door devotees Vv^as so numerous, as in some
measure, to obstruct the way ; and the major,
alluding to it, observed to his companion, with
an expressive shrug of the shoulders, and a look
of contemptuous commiseration, —

" What a degrading spectacle to the eye of a
rational Christian ! to what a state of men-
tal debasement does popery reduce her slaves,
for I will not call them her votaries. There
is not one of those poor wretches, now, that
will not return home perfectly satisfied, that he
has heard the word of God, and performed the
duty which he owes to the Sabbath-day ; although
he has not been within hearing of any thing
more than the tinkling of the bell, that an-
nounces the most idolatrous act of Romish
superstition."

Now, as Major Ogle's religion consisted en-
tirely in an abhorrence of popery ; and as he was

OLDCOURT. 47

known to be sufficiently Latitudinarian in his life
and manners, to have no particular claim to the
reputation of a saint, the puritanical cant of com-
miseration T^-ith which he uttered this remark,
excited some little disgust in D'Arcy, ^Yho hating
hypocrisy above all things, repHed rather sar-
castically : —

" Why, major, these poor people do their best
to fulfil their Sabbath duty, as you term it ; and
so far, you must allow, they have the advantage
of you and me ; for here we are, lounging about,
idly commenting on their mode of performing a
religious duty, which we ourselves should be
ashamed to neglect."

Major Ogle, though he loved dearly to have a
fling at the Papists, and seldom missed any oc-
casion that offered for that purpose, was not very
well qualified to follow his blow. A little discon-
certed, therefore, by this home- thrust of the
argumentum ad hominevi, he had recourse to
the usual mode of turning aside its point, and
replied, —

" My good friend! that is quite another thing.
WTiat you or I do, has nothing to do with the
question. Is it not lamentable, that a people
should be so brutified by their priests, and the
monstrous absurdities of their faith, as to satisfy
their consciences, that they are joining in the

48 OLDCOURT.

ceremonies of divine worship, while they are thus
practising their mummeries, their grimaces, and
their genuflections, in the pubhc road? Is not
such a practice a disgrace to a civihzed country?"

" It is, indeed," said D'Arcy, with a pecuhar
emphasis and expression.

" What ?" resumed the major, " what would a
stranger, a foreigner, unacquainted with the un-
fortunate delusions of our people, think of us, or
say of us, if he saw such a spectacle ?"

" Why," rephed D'Arcy, coolly, " if he were a
popish stranger, he w^ould prohahly say, that the
most ancient church of Christianity was very
unworthily treated by the heretical ascendancy of
this country ; and that we Protestants, were the
persecutors of the faith which we pretended to
reform. If he w^ere an enhghtened, and a liberal
stranger, he would certainly think whatever he
might say ; that such a spectacle is, as you have
said, a disgrace to a civihzed country."

" Yes," triumphantly interposed the major,
" and it should be put down by law."

"An enlightened stranger would agree with
you there, also," continued D'Arcy ; "for what
can be more disgraceful to a civilized country,
than, that any denomination of Christians should
be so insulted and oppressed in it, as to be
driven to perform their devotions to our common

OLDCOURT. 49

Creator in a hovel like that; or compelled to bend
their knees to Heaven in the mire of the common
high -way, for want of even that wretched accom-
modation,— that they should be driven to this,
too, by those who call themselves Christians —
the worshippers of the same God — the God of
mercy and peace, — whose word enforces brotherly
love to man I Yes, my dear major, the sooner such
oppression is put an end to the better."

The major was so surprised, and, as the sailors
say, "taken aback," at finding his own words thus
turned against him, that for a moment he was
confounded ; but in a half-mortified, half-jocular
tone, he replied : —

" By heaven ! D'Arcy, T sometimes suspect
that you have a leaning to the cM faith."

" No, my good friend," rejoined D'Arcy ; " but
I hope I have a leaning to common sense, and
common justice. I would give the Papist his
due, as well as the devil. Surely it is too bad,
after having wrested from him, or destroyed all
his churches — after having driven his altars for
shelter to mountains, woods, and caverns- — after
having made it death for him to preach, and
damned it as idolatry in him to pray according
to the practice of seventeen centuries, — it is too
bad, that even now, when you begin to relax a
little in your persecution — when you allow these

VOL. III. D

50 OLDCOURT.

poor people once more, to erect their ruined altars,
in such temples as the miserable barn now be-
fore us, — it is too bad, that you should abuse them,
for attempting to say their prayers in the public
path, when you have deprived them of all means
of procuring better accommodation."

" Why, my friend," sarcastically observed the
major, " you are eloquent in the cause. I could
not have heard any thing much more popish, if
I had been one of the congregation in the barn,
as you call it ; and, by the bye, if the govern-
ment were ruled by me, even that barn should
not be allowed to them for such a purpose."

" Then, major," replied D'Arcy, with some
little warmth, '' I candidly acknowledge to you,
that I hope you will never have any influence in
the state, while you hold that opinion. I have
seen many of those poor fellows spilKng their
blood for their country, like brave soldiers ; and,
to say the least of them, as honest men as their
Protestant comrades ; and, in my judgment,
they who serve their king according to their duty,
should be allowed to serv^ their God according
to their conscience. — But I hate the subject ; —
it seems to sour the milk of human kindness in
every breast, and turn the blood to gall.''

I confess, I have some pleasure in recording
this sentiment of the young baronet, because it

OLDCOURT. 61

is in accordance with my own : and I think it
creditable to him, as a man of sense and hu-
manity. In tracing his irregular career, I have
shown no indulgence to his defects, and I am
desirous to do justice to his merits. As a boy,
he was bold and mischievous — as a youth, he
was turbulent and disorderly — as a young man,
he was thoughtless and extravagant. But there
were many good points in his character, which
the reader mast have observed in the progress of
this narrative; and he had one redeeming quality,
which was more rare in his day, than even in our
own, and which, in my opinion, like charity,
covers a multitude of sins : he had an honest,
heart-glowing abhorrence of bigotry and into-
lerance, whether Papist, Protestant, or Presby-
terian ; or in whatever form of fanaticism, the
folly and knavery of his time thought fit to dis-
play those besetting sins of the Christian world.

With a contempt, which would have betrayed
itself in ridicule, if it had not blazed into indigna-
tion, he beheld that rancorous little reptile, that
crawls upon a point of space hardly discernible
in the wide scope of the creation — that puny
insect in the great garden of nature — that mere
grub and worm of the earth, called man, pre-
suming, in his arrogance, to point the thunders
of the Omnipotent; and, in the name of that

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
LIBRARY

52 OLDCOURT.

benevolent Being, who wills the happiness of his
creatures, pushing his ambitious atrocity to
the utmost limits of that mischief, w^hich his
pigmy powers enable him to perpetrate on the
wretched race to which he belongs.

With this detestation of religious animosities,
it w^as not surprising, that D'Arcy had no taste
for those subjects in which they were commonly
displayed. But if he were tired of the Catholic
Question in his day, what would he say to it now?
— when it occupies all tongues, agitates all hearts,
and threatens to turn the heads of the whole
community, — when the old and the young, the
great and the little, the grave and the gay, are
engrossed by it ; — when dandies expatiate upon
it at the Opera, ladies discuss it in a quadrille,
and dowagers drop their cards, to canvass it at a
rout : — when it rolls in theologic thunders from
the pulpit, and roars in typographic tumult from
the press : — when it froths and foams on the
rabid lips of conventicle charlatans and clerical
incendiaries ; and drivels, in dull malevolence,
through the prostituted pens of renegado priests,
regenerated Jews, and apostate jacobins.

" What guides to lead iis to the blest abodes !
What decent priests, where monkeys were the Gods!"

But it is gratifying to those who would culti-

OLDCOURT. 53

vate peace and harmony in the Christian world,
to see the churches of England and Scotland
rescued from the discredit of such virulent and
\Tilgar bigotry, by the enlightened efforts of men,
whose liberal sentiments recommend their creeds
far more effectually, than volumes of angry con-
troversy and acrimonious abuse. Amongst this
generous band of truly Christian divines, it is
impossible not to distinguish the names of the
Rev. Dr. Chalmers, the Rev. Sydney Smith,

Edward Stanley, Montgomery, and

Hamilton, as peculiarly entitled to the gratitude
and veneration of every friend to the sacred
cause of religion and liberty.

When D'Arcy rather emphatically expressed
his dislike of the topic upon which Major Ogle
had descanted, he added, accompanying the pro-
position with a movement which marked his
intention of carrying it into effect : —

" Suppose we approach, and inquire if the
service be nearly over."

The major, who seemed as little pleased with
the argument as his opponent, now advanced
with him to a part of the road, where the people
were kneeling; and D'Arcy, perhaps w4th a
view to recover his character with his friend,
and show him that he entertained no popish
reverence for the religious ceremony then going

54 OLDCOURT.

forward, — addressing an old man who seemed
deeply engaged in his devotions, said, in a flip-
pant tone : —

" Hark ye, my old boy ! — will this affair be
soon over V

The person spoken to, raised his head slowly,
and looking at D'Arcy with an expression of
surprise, as if he did not understand him, an-
swered, by proposing a question in his turn : —
" What affair does your honour spake about ?"
" What affair !" repeated D'Arcy, " why, this
praying business, that you are all so long engaged
in."

The old man's cheek became tinged with
anger ; and in a tone of indignation he asked : —
" Why, then, is it the blessed mass that you
mane to talk of, in that undacent way ? By my
sowl ! my young gentleman, it's fitter for you to
go to your own place, whatever that may be,
whether for swaddlin' or swearin', than come
here to disturb honest people a-prayin' like their
fathers afore 'em."

The dialogue began to attract attention, and
D'Arcy, laughingly, observed : —

" Why, my old boy, you seem disposed to be
saucy ;*' at the same time manoeuvring his horse,
so as to excite the alarm of an old woman, who,
on her knees, or rather indeed, sitting on her

OLDCOURT. 55

heels, was busy with her beads, in his neighbour-
hood, and who apprehending some danger from
his advance, cried out lustily.

At this moment, a young countryman, who
had somewhat impatiently observ^ed what he
thought irreverent conduct on the part of D'Arcy,
and who was farther irritated by his mother's ex-
clamation, darted forward, and \\ith a stick, cor-
responding in character to Billy Conolly's "bit
of a switch,'' struck the horse a violent blow on
the nose. The poor animal was stunned, and
reared up so high, that he lost the centre of gra-
vity, and fell backwards, with his rider under
him.

All parties forgot their resentment, and rushed
to the assistance of D'Arcy, who lay apparently
senseless ; and the termination of the mass
brought ]\Ir. Oldcourt and his family to witness
the scene of confusion, which the reader will
recollect to have been described in an earUer part
of this work.

56 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER V.

Having now, per var'ios casus, per tot dis-
crimhia rerum, safely conducted the reader back
to the Castle of Oldcourt, it may be expedient to
recal to his recollection the state of affairs in
that venerable mansit)n, at the moment when we
last left it.

For the necessary development of a character
of no small importance to the most interesting
individual of our family biography, we thought
proper to proceed in a retrospective excursion,
which, to use a common but expressive phrase,
has " led us a dance of some length by sea and
land." And as, after a long dance, however
agreeable your partner, or lively the music, — even
though Rossini should be vilified in w^altzes, and
cut up in quadrilles, every body feels a httle fati-
gued, except perhaps a Highlander in a Scotch

OLDCOURT. 57

reel, or a hoyden from a boarding-school, at her
first ball, — so, after this long literary divertisse-
ment or pas de deux, in which we have been en-
gaged, the reader may be disposed to breathe a
little, from such vigorous exertion, and sit down
quietly to a family dinner in the hospitable par-
lour of Oldcourt.

It will be recollected, that after the village Es-
culapius, Mr. Phelim M'Cabe, had exhibited his
skill in the operation of phlebotomy on Sir Wal-
ter Maurice D'Arcy, that experienced practitioner
retired to exercise his art in the humbler depart-
ment to which it was most commonly devoted —
the stable. Before he left his house-patient,
however, he, contrary, I believe, to the usual
policy of the profession, pronounced, that there
had been very little need of the lancet, and that
there was no danger to be apprehended from the
accident.

In this opinion, however, his great rival, Mrs.
Oldcourt, did not agree ; and as her medical au-
thority was of much higher repute than Doctor
M'Cabe's, at least in her own family, so, in this
instance, it carried the greater weight.

Like a learned lawyer, as well as a sage physi-
cian, she brought forward many cases to prove that
• ' appearances were fallacious on these occasions
— that internal injuries were not always evident
D 2

58 OLDCOURT.

at first, after an accident — that concussions of the
brain, and diseases of the back, were often the
result of such casualties, when they were little
apprehended ; and that Buchan pointed out the
fatal consequences which frequently followed the
imprudent neglect of precautionary measures, in
such circumstances."

Cogent reasoning like this was not to be re-
sisted. The medical alarmist will, indeed, al-
ways be the favourite with the weak and hippish
portion of society ; that is to say, about ninety-
nine out of every hundred of those who have oc-
casion, or who think they have occasion, to con-
sult the faculty.

The physician who shakes his head, compresses
his lips, and looks grave and mysterious, after he
has examined your tongue — who enlarges learn-
edly on lurking tendencies, organic aptitudes, and
contingent remainders of disease, will always be
thought to see farther into the mill-stone, and to
have more feeling, as well as more skill, than he
who has no quackery about him, who makes light
of your complaint, and laughs at your appre-
hensions.

The former, also, has another advantage in this
— that if your indisposition should turn out to be
of a trifling nature, his skill has prevented the
dangerous results with which it might have been

OLDCOURT. 59

attended; and should your fears, co-operating
with his physic, and his fasting system, work up
a shght attack of cold to a fever of tolerable ty-
phus importance, he has had at least the sagacity
to foresee the distemper, though he may not have
been able to cure it.

Mrs. Oldcourt's opinion was, therefore, deci-
sive ; and she recommended to the patient to go
immediately to bed, and hve on barley water for
a day or two, to prevent an access of fever.

The young baronet, however, who, if patients
were ever allowed to know any thing about their
own health, might be supposed to be a tolerable
judge in this case, was by no means pleased with
the prescription, though he had too much polite-
ness to dispute the matter with a lady, whose
kindness was still more apparent than her skill.

As Major Ogle saw his friend in such good
hands, and in what the" faculty call " a satisfactory
state," he now prepared to take his leave ; but his
intentions were no sooner announced, than they
were vigorously opposed by the worthy squire,
who, when the hour of refection approached,
never willingly suffered any man to depart, without
as good a dinner as he could give him, and " his
skin full of wine to wash it down."

He declared that " Major Ogle and he had long

60 OLDCUORT.

been neighbours, but that they had never yet
cracked a bottle together ; which he thought not
much to the credit of either party ; and he could
not let slip the present opportunity which fortune
threw in his way, of drinking a bumper to their
better acquaintance."

Though the major's dislike of Catholics dis-
posed him very much to avoid their society, yet,
considering the kind attentions that his friend had
received, and might still find it convenient to ac-
cept, from the Oldcourt family, he found it im-
possible to resist such pressing solicitations ; and
his servant was dispatched, accordingly, to ac-
quaint his household that he should not return to
dinner^

There were few days in the week, on which
the convivial chief of the Oldcourts could be
said to be reduced to what he considered the so-
litude of his domestic circle. There were ge-
nerally some visitors in the house ; and there was
always at hand, an accommodating variety of
hangers-on — honest, hard-drinking, hospitable
bellows, who, like Lackland in the play, would go
and live a month with any man who would enter-
tain them. Those choice spirits, however, Mrs.
Oldcourt had contrived to dislodge from their oc •
casional quarters in the castle ; and, through her

OLDCOURT. 61

influence, they were obliged reluctantly to restrict
their jovial visits to the inroad of a day. Many
of the more intemperate and disreputable, she
succeeded in banishing entirely from the house,
by remonstrance with her husband, and a digni-
fied repulsion of manner, which even the most
shameless and profligate do not like to encounter,
in the reproving demeanour of purity and virtue.

A sufficient number of the convivial crew,
however, still remained on the free hst ; who had
the entree during good behaviour; and who, in a
kind of periodical succession, contrived to drop
in, to inquire after the squire's health, just at the
time when he was about to ascertain the state of
his appetite, and they thought it possible, they
might be invited to try a similar experiment.

But though the week days were left, in a great
measure, to chance customers, Sunday was inva-
riably provided with a more regular supply of
guests, by judicious selection and express invita-
tion. The parish priest was always in requisition
on that day ; and any stranger with a decent coat
on his back, who appeared at mass, and whose
name was known to his reverence, was sure of a
summons " to pot-luck, with a cead mille faU
tagh." The ganger and the attorney of the dis-
trict, also, were frequently of the party ; and lat-

62 OLDCOURT.

terly, an English Protestant clerg^nnan, who had
recently been appointed vicar of Oldcourt, was
occasionally found in cordial association with the
Sabbath circle at the castle.

But the character of this excellent man re-
quires more than a cursory notice in this place,
from an impartial pen ; — a pen that would
■wilHngly do justice, without regard to creed or
country, — a pen that presumes not to impugn
the principles, or question the belief of any
Christian community; but that would repro-
bate, without reserve, those illiberal prejudices
which disgrace all religions, and tend to bring
discredit on Christianitv^ itself.

Persons of a different faith, were taught by
the precepts and example of the Vicar of Old-
court, that piety and goodness are not the
exclusive possessions of any sect ; — that human
virtue does not depend on mysteries inscrutable
to man, or dogmas which may reasonably admit
of a doubt, as long as they admit of a dispute.
They were taught to distinguish between the
candid, sincere, and benevolent believer, who
practises what he professes, and the sanguinary
fanatic, who would steep his creed in the blood of
his fellow-creatures ; — the mercenary hypocrite,
that takes up his religion as a trade — who enters

OLDCOURT. 63

the church as he would the Exchange, to transact
the business of bigotry, and speculate in the
commerce of creeds.

Doctor Bowen, the Vicar of Oldcourt, was
an Englishman, and had passed through the
ordinary course of education at Eton and Oxford,
with considerable credit. At college, he was dis-
tinguished for the regularity of his habits, the
severity of his studies, and his judicious avoid-
ance of that class of students in a university,
who go there, not so much to learn, as to
break loose from the restraints of parental au-
thority.

He was destined for the church ; consequently,
theology became a principal object of his atten-
tion. His mind was clear, ardent, and inqui-
sitive ; and as he conceived it to be one of the
duties of a clergyman to examine the basis of
his creed, and as he was told it was his privilege to
exercise his judgment, and decide according to
its dictates, he plunged at once deep into the
ocean of controversy.

He had the mortification to find, however,
that his faith was not strengthened cls he pro-
ceeded. He perceived, that truth was a matter
which the philosophers and the fathers talked
of, and disputed about, in all ages ; that mysteries
and miracles were not reducible to any mathe-

64 OLDCOURT.

matical certainty ; and that his belief was not
subjected to his will, or under the control of his
reason.

Disgusted, also, by the acrimonious spirit, the
odium theologicum, which has raged through the
disputations of the pious professors of brotherly
love, from the days of Origen and Celsus, down
to the Billingsgate lucubrations of Luther and
Bellarmine, — disgusted to find, that instead of
an honest, disinterested search after truth, con-
ducted with kindness, candour, and good faith,
the field of religious controversy, for the most
part, presents only an arena of rancorous com-
batants, regardless of the laws of civil warfare,
and ready to enlist the whole tribe of savage
passions on their side, to cut down their adver-
saries with temporal tomahawks and spiritual
scalping-knives ; — shocked at the display of such
fiend-like animosity and sanctimonious male-
volence, his mild and generous nature was re-
pelled from a cause, the sacred character of
which, he began to doubt, from the unholy squab-
bles of its defenders ; and, after vibrating for
some time, from side to side, through all the
oscillations of the controversial pendulum, he
found himself fixed in the heartless and hopeless
gloom of infidelity.

He now considered himself unfitted for the

OLDCOURT. 65

church ; and he determined to adopt some other
mode of Hfe, in which his opinions would not
interfere with his duties, and might be retained
without offence or hypocrisy. But he had too
much of the jnens divinior in his composition, to
rest long tranquil and content with a system that
cramps and cabins up the human intellect within
its tenement of clay, and levels man with " the
beast that perisheth."

After some time, he determined to enter on a
more systematic and vigorous investigation of
the great question of eternal life; and his erudition
enabled him to trace to their source, the springs
of human knowledge, and search all the stores of
evidence that are to be found in the records of
the Christian world. The result of this more
mature and comprehensive inquiry was, a settled
conviction of the great truths of Christianity, and
an acquiescence in the doctrines of the established
church, as, in his opinion, on the w^hole, its
purest and most liberal form.

A recollection, however, of the errors and
perplexities which had obstructed his own theo-
logic progress, made him look with indulgence on
the efforts of others, who, with equal zeal and
integrity, encountered similar difficulties, and
either arrived at a different result, or pursued the
same great object by a different path. He was,

66 OLDCOURT.

therefore, averse to controversy, and mounted
the pulpit, not as the fierce polemic, denouncing
all who disputed the dogmas of his church, but as
the mild and benevolent Christian pastor, per-
suading to charity and peace.

It will be readily beheved, that such a man
had but little chance of preferment. He was
long left to rust in his college ; his orthodoxy
aspersed, and his sincerity suspected, because his
principles were liberal, and his piety was neither
exclusive nor austere.

At length, an Irish Viceroy, who had been his
pupil at the university, recollected tl?e virtues of
his tutor, and rewarded his services by a living
in Ireland, which gave him ease and independence
for life.

The vicarage of Oldcourt afforded him an
aiRuent income, with the opportunity of doing
a great deal of good, and very little duty ; for,
though his parish was one of the largest, his
congregation was one of the smallest in the
county. When he first took possession of his
living, he was surprised to find how few attended
the service which he was so w^ell paid for perform-
ing. The agent of an absentee nobleman, with
his wife and daughters. Major Ogle sometimes,
and some of his servants, together with the
families of the attorney, the ganger, and the

OLDCOURT. 67

grave-digger, foraied his whole auditory, even on
the most solemn occasions.

He did not relax, however, in the zeal or elo-
quence of his discourses, though he sometimes
jocularly obser^-ed, that " although his church
was not large enough to contain his parishioners,
the pulpit would hold his flock." Thus circum-
stanced, he did not confine his ser\-ices within
the narrow circle of his ov>'n religious sway, but
was ever ready to confer temporal, if not spiri-
tual benefits on those who contributed to his
support.

He had succeeded a man, whose life had been
spent in a tithe-proctor warfare "^ith the unfor-
tunate peasantry around him ; and whom Father
Clancy's generous, and sometimes effectual in-
terfence in their defence, had exasperated to
the most rancorous hatred and spiteful hostility.
The new vicar determined to adopt a line of
conduct more becoming a Christian minister;
and having ascertained the general estimation in
which the worthy priest was held, he addressed
to him the following letter : —

" Reverend and dear Sir,

" Having been placed, through God's
providence, as a pastor of the Protestant church

68 OLDCOURT.

in this parish, I am, I confess, anxious to culti-
vate the good will of a gentleman, whose per-
sonal and professional character must ihake me
regard his acquaintance as a pleasure, and his
friendship as a valuable acquisition. I would
not, however, intrude upon you personally, with-
out first soliciting permission to wait upon you,
through this respectful overture towards an in-
tercourse which, I trust, may be mutually agree-
able, and perhaps beneficial, to those who are
placed respectively under our care.

" We do not, reverend sir, agree in some parti-
cular tenets of our creeds, but we are both of us
Christian ministers, and members of the great
church of Christ. We both agree in those di-
vine moral maxims which may be said to include
both " the law and the gospel," as the great rule
of life : " To do unto others as we w^ould be
done by, — and love our neighbour as ourselves."
Maxims, which, though they have, unhappily,
so little influence on our contentions, no vain
controversialist has ever dared to dispute ; and
without a just observance of w^hich, faith is but a
barren creduHty, and the forms of religion a
mockery amongst men.

" Let us then, reverend sir, live in peace and
charity; and allow me to add — in friendship;

OLDCOURT. 69

that those whcm we are appointed to lead into the
paths of righteousness, may respect our principles
in our practice, and benefit by our example."

It would be difficult to describe the satisfaction
with which Father Clancy received this liberal
address from a personage with whom, judging
from the conduct of his predecessor, he expected
nothing but supercilious civiHty, and systematic
opposition.

The good old man could never read the letter,
without a tear starting in his eye ; and he pre-
served it to the last moment of his life, as a docu-
ment of Protestant liberality, and true Christian
benevolence.

He lost no time in paying a visit of respect
to the worthy vicar ; and the interview was
so mutually satisfactory, that the foundation
was then laid of a friendship between them,
which withstood the violence of that religious
animosity which raged around them, and con-
tinued unimpaired till it was dissolved by death.

They soon discovered, in amicable communi-
cation, that they were both deep in the erudition
of their faith ; and they respected each other's
principles and powers too much, to attempt to
produce any change in the one, or obtain an idle
triumph over the other. With equal zeal and

70 OLDCOURT.

effect, they long and cordially co-operated for
the benefit of the communities over which they
were placed. Often has the Protestant pastor
addressed the Catholic congregation, from the
altar of their chapel ; — often, by the side of his
reverend colleague, has he seconded his exhorta-
tion's, in times of agitation and oppression, and
soothed the angry passions to peace, within the
charmed circle of their parochial sway, while
surrounding districts were convulsed by turbu-
lence and discontent ; thus affording to statesmen
and churchmen, a lesson from which they might
learn the influence of a spirit of benevolence
and toleration, in harmonising the discordant
opinions, and moderating the violent passions of
men.

In person, the two reverend gentlemen were
strongly contrasted. Father Clancy has been
already described : in stature he was short, neg-
ligent in his dress, and even grotesque in his
general appearance. The vicar was tall and thin,
— well formed, and dignified in his demeanour ;
observing the clerical character in his costume,
and always dressed like a gentleman. His
complexion was fair, — his countenance open,
cheerful, and prepossessing, — the soul of kind-
ness peeping forth in his eye, and irradiating
his evangelical aspect, unclouded by a frown.

OLDCOURT. 7 1

His whole physiognomy of figure and face was
such, in short, as might well have become one
of the early preachers of the Gospel, in times of
apostoHcal purity.

The virtues of his heart, the qualities of his
mind, and the amenity of his manners, reflected
credit on the religion which he professed ; and it
is impossible to contemplate his sacerdotal cha-
racter, without being forcibly struck with the
prototype of his virtues, which our own day pre-
sents to our admiration, in the person of that
truly Christian prelate, and ornament of the
Protestant church, — the venerable Bishop of
Norwich.

72

OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER VI.

The liberal intercourse which took place be-
tween the religious representatives of the parish,
soon produced a corresponding effect upon their
constituents; and through the introduction of the
priest, the parson became acquainted with the
most respectable of his Cathohc parishioners.
At the Castle of Oldcourt, in particular, he was
cordially received, and sincerely respected ; while
he, on his part, felt grateful for the attentions,
and took an interest in the character and welfare
of a family, that bore upon it so strongly the
stamp of the Milesian stock.

The approach of age, and the gentle influence
of an excellent wife, had gradually weaned the
squire from many of his bad habits. For several
years he had not dined out of his own house ; and
his hospitality there had become more temperate
in its rites, and more select as to the objects to-

OLDCOURT.

73

wards whom it was exercised. Whenever the
vicar was his guest, he was always particularly de-
corous in his conviviality, and the company was
assorted with some discretion.

On the Sunday when Sir Walter D'Arcy's ac-
cident placed him so unexpectedly, as an invalid,
in the Castle of Oldcourt, Doctor Bowen paid a
morning visit to the family, prompted by a bene-
volent desire to ascertain the state of the sufferer
from an occurrence, which had been reported to
him with all the exaggerations which usually
attend the narratives of village events.

The squire no sooner saw the good vicar ap-
proach, than anxious to secure such an accession
to his Sunday circle, he grappled him with all the
hooks of hospitality ; and assisted by his coadju-
tor. Father Clancy, reduced him to a surrender
at discretion, for the day. When he found, much
to his surprise, that Major Ogle was expected
to be of the party,. Doctor Bowen was the
more readily induced to yield ; for the worthy man
was desirous to countenance and encourage, on
every opportunity, a social intercourse between the
Protestants and Catholics of his neighbourhood.
The company, as far as it was now made up
for the festal board, besides Major Ogle, and the
two clergymen, consisted of an elderly widow lady,
Mrs. Burton,whoresidedafewmilesfrom the castle,

VOL. III. E

74 OLDCOURT.

with her son and daughter. The young gentleman,
who was much smitten by the charms of Grace
Oldcourt, inherited from his father, the property
and the profession of an extensive grazier, or
breeder of fat cattle, for sale at the different fairs
of Ballinasloe and other places.

The grazier is considered in Ireland a person
of very respectable calling; and holds in society, a
middle place, between the man of landed property
and the farmer. The young man in question,
might also be said, in manners and appearance,
to vibrate, in a sort of pendulous uncertainty, be-
tween a buck and a bumpkin ; exhibiting the as-
surance of the one, and the awkwardness of the
other ; claiming the character of a gentleman, and
often betraying the coarseness of the clown.

He was, what, in the country, is commonly
called, good looking — roundfaced, and ruddy com-
plexioned — broad shouldered, and robust; and as
he was rich enough to please himself in a wife,
he had no suspicion that he should fail to please
any young lady as a husband.

Grace Oldcourt he fixed upon for his first
matrimonial experiment; and his mother, who was
very anxious that he should dignify his race, by
an alliance with the ancient blood of the Old-
courts, laboured assiduously to recommend her
son's pretensions to the favour of the family ; as

OLDCOURT. 75

she was shrewd enough to suspect, that parental
influence might not be unnecessary to second that
young gentleman's merits, in the attainment of
his object.

Mrs. Oldcourt, who began to think her daugh-
ter rather too difficult to be pleased, was very
anxious to see her w^ell settled, that is to say,
married to a rich husband ; and as she knew the
young grazier answered that description — was
also a Catholic, and esteemed to be a respectable
man, she rather favoured his addresses. Those
modes of bringing the young people together,
were, therefore, resorted to, which mothers, by a
mutual tact, so well know how to manage, on such
occasions.

Miss Arabella Burton was a giggling girl of
seventeen, fresh from a fashionable provincial
boarding-school, and adorned with all the graces
which are usually acquired in a second-rate se=
minary of that description.

She had passed through the regular routine of
those intellectual treadmills, to which domestic
cruelty consigns young ladies to labour for years
without advancing ; their minds undergoing all the
drudo:ery of toil, without the benefit of exercise.

She knew just enough of many things, to give
her confidence without knowledge, and tempt her
to betray her ignorance, where it would not other ■

76 OLDCOURT.

wise have been suspected, or where it would have
been excused, if it had not assumed the airs of
information.

She spoke a little very bad French, with which
she was fond of interlarding a good deal of not-
much-better English. In history, she was so
skilled, that she could enumerate the different
sovereigns of England, from Alfred to Anne,
making allowance for a httle confusion amongst
the roses.

As a geographer, she knew, by heart, the names
of the different quarters of the globe, and would
tell you all the capital cities of Europe ; that is,
if you put no cross questions ; but like the
cicerone of Greenwich Hospital, she was always
obliged to begin again, if you interrupted the re-
gular routine of her information.

The use of the globes, began, about that period,
to be considered as a prime object of boarding-
school accomplishment. Every young lady you
met with, if there happened to be a terrestrial
globe within her reach, immediately set about
showing you our antipodes ; and insisted upon
teUingyou, by scientific process, what o'clock it was
in Jamaica. This latter demonstration, however,
generally happened to fail, whenever Miss Ara-
bella Burton undertook to perform it ; though al-
ways in consequence of some defect in the in-

OLDCOURT.

n

struments upon which her skill was to be dis-
played.

But it would be tedious to enumerate the va-
rious matters upon which she was studiously
astray, and fashionably misinformed. She played
the spinet without much inconvenience to her
hearers ; for, as Mr. Logier's system had not
then reduced music to a mechanical operation, she
could not inflict upon her friends, thirty closely
printed pages of what is called execution, without
stirring from her seat.

She could dance the ^linuet De la Cour, and
jump through a cotilhon, to the tune of "Jackson's
Morning Brush." Her studies of poetry and po-
lite literature, consisted in a regular exertion of
her ingenuity upon the charades and rebus's of
the Ladies' Magazine ; and an occasional cultiva-
tion of her sensibilities, in the pathetic pages of
Sterne's Maria, Sydney Biddulph, and the Sor-
rows of Werter.

In short. Miss Arabella Burton was considered,
by her mother and brother, a very accomplished
person ; and in return for their partiality, she es-
timated the one as quite uneducated, and thought
the other little better than a booby. By domestic
cultivation, this young lady might have been manu-
factured into a good-humoured specimen of plain,
home-SDun understandins: ; but worked in the

78 OLDCOURT.

tambour-frame of a boarding-school, the ground
of her character was so covered and disfigured by
flaring colours and fantastic forms, that it lost the
virtue of utiHty, without acquiring the grace of
ornament

The squire, his lady, his daughter, and three
sons, with Miss Matty Malone, an elderly
maiden relative, and young Doran, the foster-
brother of Grace Oldcourt, who was always
treated as one of the family, completed the
party.

Mrs. Oldcourt, indeed, seldom could tell, till
the dinner was actually on the table, how many
guests w^ere to sit down to it ; for every casual
visitor, up to the last moment, was sure to be in-
vited to family fare, by the good-natured master
of the mansion. The scale, however, upon
which hospitality was conducted at the castle,
prevented any embarrassment to the arrange-
ments of the lady of the house, from such a
practice.

The company having paired off in procession
to the dining-room, headed by the old squire,
in a hobbling exhibition of gouty gallantry and an-
tediluvian glee, leading the portly and well pleased
widow Burton, all took their places at the social
board. The two clergymen sat on either side
of Mrs. Oldcourt, who looked rather fat — rather

OLDCOURT.

79

hot — and rather anxious ; the presence of the
Protestant gentlemen exciting in her some
little housewife solicitude for the credit of her
establishment; as the CathoHcs of that period
were considered by the supercilious ascendancy
caste, to live in a comparatively coarse, hugger
mugger style.

The widow was deposited between Doctor
Bowen and Major Ogle; and Miss Oldcourt, giving
an intelligent nod to young Doran, who was im-
mediately at her elbow, glided in betw'een him
and her father ; Miss Burton, placing herself on
the other side, declaring, " she must sit next
dear Mr. Oldcourt, w^ho was always so good to
her ;" though some persons suspected that the
true reason for preferring that place, was, because
the young gentlemen of the family were always
in its neighbourhood.

Miss Matty Malone flanked Father Clancy ; and
Mr. Bob Burton, rather disconcerted, and some-
what huffed, by the unexpected manoeuvre of Miss
Oldcourt, took his seat next the antiquated spin-
ster ; an arrangement, of which, by their looks, the
two mammas appeared by no means to approve.

A judicious location of the young Oidcourts
now balanced both sides of the table, and com-
pleted its symmetry, as far as numbers w^ere con-
cerned.

80 OLDCOURT.

Grace having been said by the Rev. Doctor
Bowen, as representative of the established
church, the great business of refection was just
going to begin, and Mrs. Oldcourt observing,
with an apprehensive smile, w^hile looking to-
wards Major Ogle, " Gentlemen, you see your
dinner, so I hope you'll make the best of what 's
before you," had just darted a fork that w^ould
have made a tolerable sized trident for a diminu-
tive Neptune, into that magnificent emblem of
plenty and hospitality — a round of beef, W'hen an
additional guest was announced, whose presence
appeared to be neither expected nor desired by
the family.

With his head steaming like a hard-ridden
post-horse, and his forehead marked by a red
ridge from the pressure of his hat — with a bend-
ing, half-cowed, half- confident air of familiarity,
and a " God save all here ;" and " sure I thought
I'd catch you just in pudd'n' time," now sidled
into the room, Mr. Denny Burne, or, as he was
commonly called in his neighbourhood, " Donacha
Diaoul ;" Anglic^: Dennis the Devil ; an ap-
pellation intended, no doubt, to convey some
general idea of his peculiar reputation.

Mr. Denny Burne was an old crony, and had
always been an humble follower of the squire.
He was one of the very few of that class, that had

OLDCOURT. 81

not been quite routed from the establishment by
its mistress ; but as there was nothing absolutely
disreputable about him, except his face, which
bore, —

*< In purple pride the t>acchanalian hue ;

and as he was gifted with the peculiar faculty of
appearing perfectly sober, even after he had drunk
all his companions under the table, so, he was
tolerated as an occasional week-day visitor, with
whom the squire could talk of old times, and old
triumphs. But, Mrs. Oldcourt had given him
pretty plainly to understand, that Sunday was to
" shine no Sabbath-day" for him at the castle ;
and, certainly, if the fatigue of a long walk, and a
hot day, with the temptation of a good dinner,
had not got the better of his discretion, he would
not have ventured to present himself there at
such a time.

In most families, however, according to the
common observation, " every thing happens un-
luckily," in such matters ; and Mr. Denny Burne
could not have chosen any Sunday in the year,
when his appearance would have been more
mortifying to the good lady of the mansion, than
on the present occasion ; for, neither in person nor
reputation, was he calculated to do much credit to
a respectable dinner-party.
E 2

82 OLDCOURT.

In the embarrassment of an entree, which he
was conscious w^ould be considered unseasonable,
Denny had made his first salutation to the com-
pany, without particularly obser\ing the strangers
who were present ; but, when he looked round,
and perceived the two clergymen, and Major
Ogle, he felt not a little abashed ; for, he was
well aware, that between him and them, there
existed no social sympathy, and he would gladly
have made good his retreat ;-— but it was too late.

In a sufficiently humble style of address,
therefore, he ventured to say : —

" God bless your reverence \" to Father
Clancy ; and, " Your humble servant, sir," to
Dr. Bowen.

" So, Dennis," said the priest, with a nod.

" Your most obedient, Mr. Burne;" said the
minister, w^ith a more formal bend of the head.

Major Ogle looked repulsion ; and Denny
hazarded no approach to recognition in that
cold quarter.

" God bless me ! how provoking!" exclaimed
Mrs. Oldcourt, in a mezzo voce style, half to
herself, and half to her neighbours.

In a bustle of chairs at the bottom of the table,
young Doran got up to make way for the unex-
pected guest, who declared, " He was mighty sorry
to disturb the good company in that way 1"

OLDCOURT. 83

" Come, come, Denny," cried the squire
" no ceremony ; sit down here by me. Grace,
my dear, move up a Httle, and make room for my
old friend." " Andrew ! a plate for Mr. Burne."

Order having been thus restored, the edible
operations of the party were allowed to proceed
without farther interruption; and, certainly,
those who had good stomachs, and liked to see
the table groan under a substantial dinner, had
great reason to be satisfied. The provision for
the day would have suppHed the officers' mess
of a marching regiment for a month. It would
have been thought a satisfactory feed at a meet-
ing of the Farmer's Club ; and, under the cuhnary
skill and amplification of a Jarrin or an Ude, might
have stopped the clamours of fashionable voracity,
at the breakfast of the Horticultural Society.

Major Ogle examined the abundant board v»ith
a kind of commiserative shrug, and gave an ex-
pressive look to the doctor, who either did not,
or would not understand him.

" Had not you better cry the game, my dear?"
said the squire ; " Major Ogle may be reserving
himself for the second course, if you don't put
him on his guard."

" I have already warned our friends, Mr.
Oldcourt," rephed his lady. " They see what
they have to depend on ; a plain family dinner.

84 OLDCOURT.

No second course I assure you. Nothing to
come but a green goose, and some sweets for the
young people."

" Madam," answered Major Ogle, " you have
so amply provided for your friends in the first
course, that the idea of a second would be dis-
tressing to a moderate appetite."

Doctor Bowen, who thought there was some-
thing like a sneer in the major's observation,
immediately said : —

" My dear Mrs. Oldcourt, the palate must
be as perverted as the temper of the man, who
could be otherwise than pleased with the excellent
dinner which you have set before us ?"

" For my part," observed Mrs. Burton,
*' whatever my fare may be, I like to have it
before me at once ; and so it was with the late
Mr. Burton. Though he was the poorest eater
in the world, yet, little or much, he must al-
ways have it on the table from the first.
Though, to be sure, with some things it does
very well to have them up hot and hot ; as a
good beefsteak — but I can't abide to be taken by
surprise, and find a better dinner in the second
course, than I have had in the first."

"Aye, by Jove," added the young grazier,
who was a bit of an epicure ;" " and perhaps not
be able to eat it, into the bargain. I've some-

-OLDCOURT. 85

times been deucedly taken in, that way, I assure
you."

" A long meal," said Father Clancy, " leads
to excess ; and a good dinner for the palate, is
often a bad dinner for the constitution."

" 'Egad ! Father Clancy," observed the squire,
" you remind me of what I used to think when
I was boy, — that if you believed the doctors,
every thing that was nice was unwholesome."

" Boys, my good friend/' replied the priest,
" think many things nice, with which a phy-
sician or a parent may reasonably refuse to
gratify them."

"Yes," said Doctor Bowen, "boys are al-
ways gluttons, and often epicures, too, in their
own way. There is nothing that should be so
anxiously repressed in young folks, as a dispo -
•sition to pamper their appetites. The boy who
is always thinking of what he eats — who hoards
an apple or a plum -cake from his fellows, will
become a selfish, miserly hunks, in after life."

"Eating," added Father Clancy, "is neces-
sary to satisfy the cravings of hunger. The
desire of food is a want which we should be
content to supply, and not study to stimulate."

Here, Alajor Ogle, who was notorious for his
devotions to the culinary department, and piqued
himself on the recherche character of his table.

86 OLDCOURT.

turning with a rather supercilious air to the
priest, observed : —

" Hunger, sir, is a sensation not very com-
monly experienced amongst people of condition ;
and I trust, without being considered sensualists,
we may please the palate, as well as satisfy the
appetite. Nature has furnished us with the
sense of taste, and, therefore, I should think we
have a right to attend to its gratification."

Doctor Bowen saw that his reverend brother
was a little hurt at the contemptuous tone of
Major Ogle's remark, and he interposed before
the priest could reply.

" That, my dear major, is what we, at college,
call a non seqiiitur. Nature furnishes us with
many passions and propensities, which w^e not
only have no right to gratify, but which, under
the pain of punishment, we are bound to re-
press. The more or less of indulgence is the
sole question here, and moral and social good
the only criterion by which it can be decided.
Nature is a vague term, that every body
uses, and nobody defines. A friend of mine
flatters himself that he lives according to nature,
while he drinks double-distilled water, and feeds
on vegetables cultivated by art, and cooked in
all the savory varieties supplied by culinary skill.
But I tell him, if he would live according to

OLDCOURT. 87

nature, in any intelligible sense of that word,
he must satisfy his hunger with a feast of acorns,
from the next oak tree, and slake his thirst, at
the first puddle he finds in the neighbourhood.
We may please our palates at Mrs. Old-
court's hospitable board without censure ; but
there is nothing more true, than the trite pro-
verb ; that " we should eat to live, and not live
to eat."

" I can't help thinking too, doctor," re-
joined Father Clancy, with a little more em-
phasis than was usually discoverable in his
manner, " that if persons of condition, as they
are called, were occasionally to feel a few
twitches of hunger, it would do no harm to their
health, and might, perhaps, make them a little
more considerate of those persons of a different
condition, who suffer all the miseries of that
passion, without the means to appease it/^

" It would be a salutary lesson, indeed," now
observed Miss IMatty Malone, with a sly re-
ference to the major, who was a great epicure,
and not very generous to his tenantry ; " for I am
sure, it's quite shocking to think, how the poor
people are left to starve, by those who seem to
believe that they are brought into the world
for no other purpose than to pursue their

88 OLDCOURT.

wild pranks, and pamper their perverted ap-
petites.''

" Matty, my dear," said the squire, who be-
gan to be somewhat afraid of the good spinster's
garruHty, when once set a going ; " Father
Clancy wants to take a glass of wine with
you. Major Ogle, a glass of Madeira — 'tis
Ferns's best. He assures me it has been a
great traveller, and has not only doubled the
Cape, but visited the coast of Coromandel. —
Doctor, you'll join us — you have no objection to
a glass of good wine, I am sure."

"Assuredly not," replied the doctor; "taken
in moderation, it is agreeable and healthful."

"Come, Denny, my old boy," said the squire,
turning to that gentlemen, "you never fail me ;
you never flinch."

" Not when there's any thing good a goin',
squire," replied Mr. Denny Burne ; " and sure
you would'nt have me refuse a glass of good
liquor ? For what's good in itself, can't be bad
for any body, you know."

Mr. Burne gave the last part of the sentence
with a kind of half- suppressed chuckle, as if he
was not quite sure of his ground.

" Toper's logic, Denny," exclaimed the eldest
son, Barry Oldcourt, wath w^hom Mr. Burne

OLDCOURT.

89

was no favourite ; " and quite convincing at a
tavern."

" To \vhich place," said Father Clancy,
gravely, " Mr. Burne would do well to confine it."

Denny was a little abashed ; but Mr. Oldcourt,
good-naturedly interposing, said: —

" Come, come, you are too hard upon my old
friend ; but nobody stands a joke better than
Denny, I will say."

" Except w^hen the bottle stands, sir;" slily
observed the youngest son.

" But that is no joke. Master Phil.," smartly
retorted Denny; " and was always enough to vex
the squire himself."

This last sally produced a general laugh, and
set Denny on his legs again.

The squire now desired the Champagne to
be handed round ; and having himself taken a
bumper, he smacked his lips with the air of a
connoisseur, and observed : —

" Well, I do like French wines ; but I hate
their cookery. I always set my face against their
kickshaws and fricassees. Give me a table well
furnished with good plain fare, and well filled
with hearty friends to partake of it : — that's my
notion."

And a very good one, Mr. Oldcourt," said

90 OLDCOURT.

the doctor; and I am sure you must be much

gratified to-day in both respects."

" I own I Uke a good dinner mightily," said
Mr. Bob Burton ; don't you. Miss Oldcourt V
addressing that young lady, for the first time since
they had taken their places at table.

" That is rather an awkward question to put
to a lady before company, Mr. Burton," an-
swered Miss Oldcourt, with a blush. If I say
* no,* you will think I have no taste ; and if I say
' yes,' you will set me down as an epicure. But,
in truth, I am very indifferent about what I eat."

" Now, that's just like me!" exclaimed Miss
Arabella Burton. " Eating is quite a masculine
operation. I assure you it was thought a very
unseemly process* for a young lady, at Mrs.
Fillagree's academy."

''By Jove!" said her brother, "that's politic
doctrine at a boarding-school. But I'll engage
you were all ravenous enough when you got in a
corner."

" For shame ! brother," rejoined Miss Bur-

* In Wadd's pleasant work on Corpulency, Doctor
Beddoes is quoted as relating, in one of his Essays, that,
in a certain seminary, an elegant delicacy of appetite had
been so successfully inculcated, that forty girls were fed,
for two days, on a single leg of mutton !

OLDCOURT. 91

ton, with a toss of the head, and a very con-
temptuous curl of the lip ; " how can you talk
so ! You know I never have the least appetite."

" Egad, that's good ! ejaculated the young
grazier ; " when you know, Bell, that you never
have patience to wait for dinner, but always
make interest with the cook for a stay-stomach.

This authentic evidence, that her organs of
digestion were in a sounder state, than she
thought consistent with the refined dehcacy to
which she laid claim, so utterly confounded poor
Miss Burton, that it was with the utmost diffi-
culty she could refrain from bursting into tears.
The word " brute" was heard to issue from her
lips ; she coloured up to the eyes, as the saying
is, and her confusion svas not a Httle increased
by an ill -suppressed laugh amongst her young
friends, as well as by an observation of the
squire's, — who, good-naturedly intending to re-
lieve her embarrassment, made the matter worse,
by saying : —

" Never mind, my dear young lady I — a good
appetite is not a thing to be ashamed of ; it is a
proof of good health : and whatever Mrs. Filla-
gree, or any other silly body of a school-mistress
may say, it is a great blessing to man or woman ;
and I hope your brother may long have to accuse
you of it."

92 OLDCOURT.

A very expressive look from his mother, indi-
cating present displeasure, and future expostula-
tion, gave Mr. Bob Burton to understand, that
his discretion had very much failed him ; and he
was silent for some time.

The dinner now went on, and went off, like
most dinners in the country, with much wise
disquisition on corn and cattle, the weather and
the Assizes ; the old ladies keeping up a cross-
fire of conversation, in mutual details of domestic
economy, and culinary grievance : the young
ladies talking of balls, and thinking of beaux ; the
young gentlemen, most ungallantly engaged in
discussing matters connected with hounds, hun-
ters, and handicaps.

The two reverends were cordial and communi-
cative ; Major Ogle, pompous, cold, and super-
cilious ; their host facetious, hospitable, and happy;
as, to do him justice, he always was at his own
table, when he had what he called, '* his friends
about him ;" that is, every body whom he could
persuade to cut his beef and drink his claret.

During the progress of the dinner, he made
divers attempts to have such food and refresh-
ments conveyed to the apartment of the invalid.
Sir Walter D'Arcy, as he thought would comfort
that young gentleman, in a state of seclusion and
restraint, for which the worthy squire several times

OLDCOURT. 93

expressed the greatest possible commiseration.
But Mrs. Oldcourt was absolute in resisting all
his propositions for such dangerous indulgence to
her patient ; and her medical authority was too
well established to be effectually opposed, even by
her lord and master.

94 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER VI I.

In all well regulated families, where the bottle
may be said to bear sway, as the most important
object of festal enjoyment, there is generally a
signal estabUshed between the master and the
mistress of the establishment ; by means of which,
when the former becomes impatient for a more
rapid circulation of the liquids, the latter is in-
structed that the time has arrived when she is to
draw on her gloves, and, by a gracious nod of the
head round the table, to collect the female part
of her company and retire.

The master of the house now rises in solemn
dignity, and moves to the head of the table,
where he takes his seat between the most im-
portant guests of the day, who are always com-
plimented with the post of honour next the lady
of the mansion. A considerable bustle among
the chairs now takes place ; the scattered baccha-

OLDCOURT. 95

nalian files immediately take close order, those
previously at the bottom of the table moving up
in succession ; the presiding chief pulls a string,
which, for greater convenience, is attached to his
seat ; the butler makes his appearance with a
fresh supply of the purple grape, from the fa-
vourite bin of Barnes, Adamson, or Carbonel,
cooled down, by Reaumur and Fahrenheit, to the
most exact temperature of palatable vinous re-
frigeration ; all obstacles to the easy progress of
the little fleet of coasters round the board are
removed ; olives, walnuts, and other stimulants,
are put in requisition ; and the great business of
the evening begins.

But, thank Heaven ! this is a description more
apphcable to past than to present times. Your
six bottle men — indeed the vdiole bacchanalian
race are nearly expelled from civilized society,
and tipplers are now to be found only in taverns,
alehouses, or country clubs.

The house of Oldcourt, however, had not, at
the time of which I write, departed from the
ancient usage of convivial life in Ireland. There
was an established signal which regulated the
motions of its mistress ; and when that benevo-
lent sentiment, " May the single be married, and
the married Hve happy," was given by her bus-

96 OLDCOURT.

band, in a bumper, his amiable better half knew
her duty and obeyed.

On the present occasion, this telegraphic toast
having been repeated through the whole line of
guests, Mrs. Oldcourt, " hoping soon to see the
gentlemen in the drawing-room," retired with
the other ladies to such insipid communion as,
I am sure, the less seltish and more truly social
spirit of the fair sex, cannot much enjoy, where
man is absent.

This, however, was not an evening for a regu-
lar set-to. The presence of the two clergymen
forbade excess ; and the difference of political
and religious sentiment, which prevailed between
some of the parties, indisposed them to a long
delay in the dining-room. Great caution had
been used on all sides, to prevent the intro-
duction of any topic which might create un-
pleasant feelings.

Major Ogle was, indeed, the only string that
was likely to jar in the company. He was known
to be what was then termed a blue Protestant ;
an appellation analogous to that of the Orange-
man or Brunswicker of the present day ; and the
Oldcourts were anxious that, as their guest, he
should experience nothing to offend his pre-
judices, or render ineffectual that approximation

OLDCOURT. 97

to a liberal intercourse with their neighbour,
which chance had so unexpectedly brought about.

Doctor Bowen, too, though he detested the
rancorous spirit of bigotry which distinguished
the major, was pleased to meet him at the castle;
hoping, in the benevolence of his heart, that
social intercourse would lead to mutual conciha-
tion.

With the exception, therefore, of the little
gastronomic skirmish, which occurred at the
outset of the entertainment, no particular col-
loquial animation had been displayed on any
topic ; though the American war, then drawing to
its mortifiying close, — the administration of Lord
North, — back -stairs influence, — the combined
fleets, the riots, and the Whiteboys, had been
successively adverted to.

Mr. Denny Burne, however, at last, inadver-
tently disturbed the harmony of the evening.
Immediately after dinner, he had solicited to be
indulged with " a taste of the native ; the prettiest
tipple in the world, of the mistress's own brew-
ing ;" the spirituous, being more palatable than
the vinous fermentation to the taste, as well as
more familiar to the stomach of that habitual
soaker.

Mrs, Oldcourt, in addition to her housewife

VOL. III. F

98 OLDCOURT.

skill iu the preparation of pickles, preserves,
cordials, liqueurs, waters, wines, and all sorts
of home-made stimulants, medicaments, and
tinctures, was celebrated for her currant whiskey ;
a copious and judicious infusion of black currant
juice, communicating to that indigenous liquid
a peculiarly rich and agreeable flavour.

With this potent spirit, as the basis of her
operations, by a scientific admixture of other
congenial ingredients, aqueous, saccharine, and
acetous, in nicely adapted proportions, she, by
a frequently repeated effusion of the liquid com-
pound from one capacious vase or jug, into
another, had the art of brewing a potation called
punch, which was in the highest repute among
the general run of visitors at the castle. It was
always prepared before dinner, placed ready on
the side-board, and was much in favour with
the squire himself; but never brought forward,
unless by very particular desire, when any stranger
of consequence was present.

Mr. Denny Burne having been copiously
supplied with his favourite beverage, very dili-
gently filled his glass, giving a most obse-
quious simper of assent to all opinions and
propositions, from all quarters ; and sending forth
a peculiarly applausive chuckle, in sound some-

OLDCOURT. 99

thing between a cough and a quinzy, to ex-
press his admiration of every thing uttered by
the squire.

He happened, however, upon one occasion,
to take a more active part in the conversation ;
and not being at all aware that there w^as any
person present connected with the circumstances,
he, in the communicativeness of the moment,
acquainted the company, *' that the poor old
woman who had been that morning run over
by the young officer, was not expected to live."

Mr. Denny Burne not being the most ex-
emplary Catholic in the parish, had said his
prayers at home that day, and knew of the
affair only by report, — in general, a very apocry-
phal narrator of events ; and the reader will
have perceived, that on the present occasion, the
version of the story, which reached Mr. Burne,
had, as usual in such cases, very much im-
proved upon the original incident.

It must be acknowledged, however, to the
credit of that gentleman, that he contributed
nothing to the accumulating interest of the tale,
but the slight additional circumstance, " that
the poor woman was not expected to live ;'* for
having heard that one of her legs had been
broken, and that Mr. Phelim M'Cabe had been
called in, he very naturally concluded, that death

100 OLDCOURT.

was the probable result to be expected from
such combined dangers, as the fracture, and the
physician.

Certain it is, that if Mr. Burne had been
aware that the only sufferer from the accident
was then in the house, he would have kept his
intelligence to himself ; and he was surprised,
almost to a state of consternation, at the eager
burst of denial, and evident disapprobation, with
which it was received ; his attention being at
the same moment rather painfully excited, by
a smart application to his toes, under the table,
from the heel of the old squire's gouty shoe,
as a hint, that the ground Mr. Burne had
touched upon, was as tender as his corns.

When he recovered breath, from the double
infliction which he had so unwittingly drawm
down upon himself, he, in a tone of great hu-
miliation and regret, declared, that " he only
repeated what he was tould, as he came along,
for, as he hoped to be saved ! he knew no more
about it, himself, than the man in the moon."

" Then, sir," sternly observed Major Ogle,
who seemed eagerly to seize upon the oppor-
tunity afforded him, as a favourable vent for
letting out the hoarded dissatisfaction of the
whole day ; " give me leave to tell you, you
should be cautious how you propagate such vile

OLDCOURT.

101

and vulgar fabrications, which can have but
one object, and that, one which no honest man,
or good subject, can observe without indigna-
tion."

The squire, who was evidently surprised,
and a httle hurt, at, what he thought, the un-
necessary heat, and, as he suspected, pointed
acrimony of his guest's manner, in a half jocular,
half serious way, said, —

" Pooh I pooh I my good sir ! it would puzzle
your sagacity to discover any object worthy of a
serious remark, in the gossiping exaggerations of a
country village. My friend, Denny, meant no of-
fence to church or state, I warrant him. Eh,
Denny ?" turning to that gentleman, and clapping
him on the back.

Mr. Denny Burne now began to establish his
innocence of all such disloyal intentions, by divers
asseverations, such as " I declare to God!" — " as
I hope for mercy I" and " may this be my poison 1"
when father Clancy, with an expressive shake of
the head, repressed his objurgatory exculpation,
and added, —

" Fie, fie ! Mr. Burne, we can believe you,
without any such indecorous attestations."

And Doctor Bowen, wishing to turn the cur-
rent of observation from the already overwhelmed
culprit, asked Mr. Oldcourt, —

102 OLDCOURT.

" How the accident originated, for he had not
heard the particulars ?"

Major Ogle immediately took upon him to
answer the question ; and said, with the same
warmth of manner which had distinguished his
former observation, —

" The accident, Doctor Bowen, from which
my friend has suffered so severely, and which has
put Mr. Oldcourt and his family to so much in-
convenience, originated, I am sorry to say, in
the barbarous and preposterous practice of the
wretched peasantry of this country, which you
must have observed, and which must have
shocked your English ideas ; I mean their habit
of surrounding their chapels, and squatting in
the public roads, obstructing the way, under pre-
tence of attending their devotions ; a practice
which, with all due deference to the respectable
gentleman in whose presence I speak," (bowing
to Father Clancy) " it would well become those
who have such influence over their flocks to
prevent."

To this unexpected attack, the priest, calmly,
but somewhat sarcastically, replied : —

" If you will enable me, sir, to enlarge the
miserable barn w^hich is assigned to me for the
performance of divine worship in this parish,
I shall be happy at once to shelter my poor flock.

OLDCOURT. 103

and remove the evil of which you complain,
perhaps, a Httle unreasonably. The peasantry of
this country. Major Ogle, are, indeed, wretched,
as you describe them ; but in nothing are they
more degraded, than in being reduced to the ne-
cessity of offering their homage to their Creator
and yours, in the way which appears to give
you so much offence/'

The gallant major was a httle disconcerted ;
and before he had prepared his rejoinder, Barry
Oldcourt, addressing Doctor Bowen, observed, —
" It is very true, doctor, that the accident so
far originated from the practice which has been
objected to, — that, if the congregation could have
been all included within the chapel, it probably
would not have occurred ; but I have the best
authority for stating, that on this occasion, the
accident did not arise from any inconvenient ob-
struction of the pubUc road, or any misconduct,
whatever, on the part of the people."

" Give me leave to say, young gentleman," in-
terrupted the major, with some sharpness, " that
I was present, and that you were not."

" I have only to add, sir," continued the young
man, mildly, but firmly, " that I have been au-
thorised by Sir Walter D'Arcy to declare, that
he himself, and he only, was to blame for what
has happened,"

104 OLDCOURT.

This was a knock -down blow to the major's
argument : rallying, however, a little, he re-
joined : —

" I think, sir, when we consider Sir Walter
D'Arcy's present circumstances, we may fairly
suspect that such a declaration was prompted
rather by his politeness, than his candour."

Young Oldcourt, irritated at what he considered
the indelicate proceeding of the major, with a
glowing cheek, replied, —

" It might not be amiss, perhaps, if Major Ogle
would allow himself to be influenced, on the pre-
sent occasion, by a similar sentiment."

Major Ogle coloured, and bit his lips ; an awk-
ward feeling of embarrassment and mutual dis-
satisfaction began to manifest itself in the com-
pany. The squire evidently found it difhcult to
keep up the usual good humour and facetious
demeanour, with which he conducted himself
towards his guests ; and the doctor, anxious to
dissipate the clouds that were collecting over the
conversation, jocularly addressed Father Clancy.

" Really, my reverend friend, I must say, I
think you do not use me well. You contrive to
gather about you the whole population of the
parish, in that strange structure which you dig-
nify by the name of chapel, and even fill the
highways with your friends ; while you leave me.

OLDCOURT. 105

who, as a stranger, have some claim on your
kindness, to pray in solitude in my stately temple,
and, like Dean Swift, in St. Patrick's Cathedral,
address myself to my ' dearly beloved Roger,' for
want of better company."

Father Clancy laughed heartily at this sally, and
replied, —

" My excellent friend, I am more afraid of the
influence of your life than your religion on my
flock ; and your liberality may convert those
who would not be shaken by your learning."

" Don't you think, Mr. Oldcourt," continued
the doctor, turning to that gentleman, " that it
would be but neighbourly in Father Clancy, to
hand over to me a few of his supernumeraries, for
whom he has no accommodation, just to cheer
my Sabbath solitude a little, and people my de-
serted pews ; I will promise him, that they shall
hear no homilies of conventicle cant, or pious?
persecution."

" My worthy sir," emphatically replied the
squire, " I am no great judge of doctrines ; but
I am quite sure that your conduct and sentiments
would do honour to any church."

" What say you. Major Ogle ?" facetiously and
somewhat slily, resumed the doctor ; " don't you
think we could accommodate some of my friend's
F 2

106 OLDCOURT.

out-door devotees, in our unfrequented tabernacle?
There are some happy countries, where Protes-
tant and Catholic succeed each other in worship-
ing their common God, under the same roof.
You would reUnquishyour pew, I am sure, major,
for such a liberal purpose : it is not often oc-
cupied/'

The majm', who, notwithstanding the cordial
attention with which he was received and treated
by the Oldcourt family, had sat, during the whole
evening, like a porcupine wdth all his quills out,
seemed to be provoked beyond endurance, by the
double edge of point and pleasantry in the doc-
tor's appeal to him. His lip quivered, and sum-
moning up all his dignity, with a haughty air and
hurried utterance, addressing the reverend gentle-
man, he said, —

" I do not recognise, sir, in Doctor Bowen,
any privilege, personal or professional, which
should authorise him to take a liberty with me, or
indulge his ill-timed levity at my expense."

The worthy doctor was not more surprised than
offended at this pompous rebuke; but unwilling to
sharpen farther the illiberal asperity which his
opponent displayed, he bowed, and mildly ob-
served,—

" Really, Major Ogle, I should think a mo-
ment's reflection must satisfy you, that you are

OLDCOURT. 107

not called upon to take up this matter so se-
riously."

" Sir," retorted the major, with increased ve-
hemence, " I must aUvays consider myself called
upon to assert my feelings when I am treated im-
properly ; and give me leave to say, that this is
not the time, the place, or the companv, which a
judicious Protestant clergy-man would choose, as
a fit opportunity to lecture any respectable mem-
ber of his church, for an imputed inattention to
his duties."

Doctor Bowen's sense of the dignity of his
profession was now aroused ; and in a stern and
impressive manner, he replied, —

'* My allusion, sir, to your absence from church,
was made in a spirit, which any dispassionate
person would consider as intended to allay, rather
than create irritation. But as you have thought
proper to make it a pretext for an unbecoming
assault upon my conduct as a clergyman, I shall
take the liberty to set you right upon the subject,
and tell you, that whenever you unnecessarily,
unhandsomely, and, as in this instance, most wan-
tonly take upon you to reprobate as barbarous
and preposterous, the conduct of your fellow-
Christians, who endeavour to perform their duties,
I shall always consider mvself authorised, as a

106 OLDCOURT.

clergyman, an honest man, and a gentleman, to
comment on the way in which you neglect yours,"

The mortified major here endeavoured to in-
terpose, with an interjection of some sort ; but the
doctor, with a still firmer accent, proceeded.

"In one word more, sir, I w^ould suggest to
your calmer consideration, that if good feehng
does not operate, good sense and common discre-
tion, should induce you to be silent respecting a
practice, which, however it may be regretted, as
inconvenient and mortifying to your Catholic
countrymen, is disgraceful only to those who
have, by their bigotry, rendered it necessary."

The major now, with an agitated effort to be
cool and sarcastic, replied, —

" I thank you, sir, for your suggestions ; but
whateser respect I may pay to your doctrines in
the pulpit, I must beg leave to protest against
them here. But I presume they are calculated
for the company and the occasion," (bowing to
Father Clancy).

" By my honour ! major," emphatically ex-
claimed the squire, " you cannot pay the com-
pany a higher complim.ent."

" And allow me," added the priest, with a very
significant return of the major's bow, " to thank
you, sir, for the occasion wdiich called forth sen-

OLDCOURT. 109

timents which do so much honour to a Christian
minister."

" I am much mistaken, sir," rejoined the ma-
jor, "if those sentiments will do the reverend
gentleman much credit or service amongst his
profession ; but perhaps he meditates a change.
Indeed, if I might presume to offer a suggestion,
in my turn, to Doctor Bowen, I should say, he
cannot do better than to quit a church which he
is so ready to censure."

''Why, really," retorted the doctor, address-
ing himself, with the most provoking coolness, to
Father Clancy ; " if Major Ogle's opinions were
to prevail in it, T should tremble for my ortho-
doxy ; — I don't think a mitre would bribe me to
conformity,"

The major, now, in a state of great irritation,
rose from his chair, and pulled the bell, at the
same time addressing his host : —

" Allow me, Mr. Oldcourt, to order my horses.
I would put an end to an altercation which I re-
gret to have been engaged in, in this house. 1
beg, sir, to acknowledge my obhgation to your
hospitality, as well as my sense of your kindness
to my friend."

The old squire, rising from his seat, with much
dignity, replied, —

" Major Ogle, it has been the wish of this

110 OLDCOURT.

family to treat you with every possible attention
and consideration ; and I very much regret that
any subject should have occurred to hurt your
feelings, or diminish the pleasure of the day."

Barry Oldcourt, who had observed, and could
with difficulty refrain from resenting, the haughty,
captious, andsupercihous demeanour of their new
guest, here eagerly interposed, and addressing
himself to his father, said, with some warmth, —

" My dear, sir ! I must, on my part, disclaim all
apology. Major Ogle has chosen his own topics,
as well as his mode of discussing them, and must
have anticipated the result."

The servant here announced, that the horses
were at the door; and Major Ogle, affectmg not to
notice the last observation, with a stiff, general
bow to the company, immediately withdrew.

It may be supposed, the party felt relieved by
his retirement. But poor Denny Burne was so
distressed at having been the person who threw
the apple of discord among the company, that
he WcLS obliged to absorb a double portion of Mrs.
Oldcourt's '•' pretty tipple," to keep up his spirits ;
declaring, that he'd " bite off the tongue in his
head, afore he'd say a word to breed ill blood at
the squire's table, where every man found good
cheer, and hearty welcome."

Doctor Bowen owned that he was surprised

OLDCOURT. 1 li

and disappointed ; for though he knew Major
Ogle had often manifested ill temper and illibe-
rality, he never supposed he could display those
qualities so offensively, as he had done on that
evening. The young men expressed their de-
light at the manner in which Doctor Bowen had
squahashed the ill-mannered prig ; and Barry
Oldcourt lamented, that, at his father's table, he
could not satisfy his feelings, and punish such
impertinence, as it deserved.

The two reverends now^ proposed to join
the ladies ; a motion to which all parties as-
sented, except Mr, Denny Burne, who " just
wanted to spake a word to the squire." This
was an intimation which always made the wor-
thy host mechanically button up his pockets ;
for he invariably found it to be the prologue to
an application, w^hich was intended to relieve
them of some of their contents ; and his meat
was much more at his friend's service than his
money.

On the present occasion, however, Mr. Burne
had no pecuniary views ; he merely proposed to
himself two advantages of no small consequence
in his estimation. In the first place, he gained
time to finish the jug of "pretty tipple," which he
had not quite exhausted ; and in the next place,
he avoided the company of the ladies, who, he

112 OLDCOURT.

knew, were not very partial to him, and whose
society, indeed, was not more suited to his taste,
than the delicious beverage which circulates at
the social board over which they preside ; a
beverage for which we can never be too grateful
to the children of Fo-Hi, and the celestial empire;
which refreshes, without fevering, the exhausted
spirits, and exhilarates without intoxication ;
which, by enlarging the limits of female dominion
at home, has established sobriety as a domestic
virtue, and effected more for the temperance,
morality, and good manners of society, than all
the denunciations against drunkenness that have
ever proceeded from the bar, the pulpit, or the
press.

OLDCOURT. 113

CHAPTER VIII.

While the ceremonies of deglutition were
carried on with considerable activity in the family
refectory of Oldcourt, Sir Walter D'Arcy, in the
apartment assigned to his use, was suffering
under all the privations of an invalid ; a position
discLgreeable enough at any time, but particularly
mortifying when the sounds of good cheer tanta-
lize us with savoury associations, and convivial
sympathies are unimpaired by the presence of
any real indisposition. The baronet, in fact, in
accordance with the unprofessional declaration of
Doctor Phelim M'Cabe, and in opposition to the
strictly medical anticipation of his fair rival,
Mrs. Oldcourt, found himself in a state which,
as far as he could judge, required only a few of
those nutritives to be administered to him, which
are usually prescribed as specifics in that parti-

114 OLDCOURT.

cular affection of the stomach, called — a good
appetite.

He had, indeed, so completely recovered the
effects of his accident, tliat nothing remained to
remind him of it, but the bandage on his arm ;
and he thought it particularly unlucky, that while
he felt competent to do justice to the very best
display of his fair hostess's culinary department,
that good lady, in her character of physician,
should condemn him to solitude, a sick chair,
and a water -gruel diet.

Without manifesting, however, an ungracious
disregard of injunctions, which were evidently
dictated by kindness, if not by skill, he could not
help himself; and he determined, for the present
at least, to submit.

He had got just a glimpse of Miss Oldcourt
from the window of his room, as that 'young
lady returned from a walk in the garden, before
dinner ; but the slightest glance was sufficient to
convince him, that she was not an every-day
person, and that rumour had not done her more
than justice. His impatience, therefore, under
his present restraint, was not a little increased
by his desire to see her again.

Having, through mere hunger, dispatched a
large supply of water-gruel, made somewhat pala-

OLDCOURT.

115

table by the addition of a little wine, nutmeg, and
sugar, and having solicited from his attendant a
second edition of the deHcately sliced dry toast
with w^hich it was accompanied, he sat for some
time picking his teeth, through habit, as if he had
had any occupation for them; and indulging in some
philosophical ruminations on " the various turns
of chance below," and that particular instance of
the casualties of this life, which had placed him,
that day, in circumstances so peculiar, and so
little anticipated.

He felt no displeasure against any one on ac-
count of his accident : he was conscious he had
himself occasioned it, by provoking the feehngs
which he ought to have respected, and idly affect-
ing to ride over the old rustic who had so justly
rebuked his flippancy.

On the whole, as he apprehended no other ill
consequence from it, than a day's abstinence, and
the loss of a little bood, which he could very well
spare, he was rather pleased with an occurrence
which bore such a romantic air, and held forth
the prospect of so interesting an acquaintance.

The family he knew to be ancient and respect-
able— the squire most hospitable; his sons had the
character of being amongst the most gentlemanly
young men of the county ; and what was by far
the most attractive object of speculation to a man

116 OLDCOURT.

of our hero's particular taste, the daughter was a
beauty, a toast, and a universal favourite.

Having walked about the room till he had nearly
exhausted his powers of reflection, he had re-
course to those of observation, and began to ex-
amine the apartment in which he was invalided.
It was evidently one of the state dormitories of
the castle. The bed, adorned with dingy damask
curtains, and a somewhat tangle-fringedcanopy top,
was deposited in a recess or alcove : the chim-
ney-piece, large, ponderous, and projecting, looked
like an altar erected for the worship of tire — the
expanded aperture for the grate, shining w^th
scripture history, detailed in the enamelled mag-
nificence of Dutch tiles. There was an altar-
piece, too, which was a stiff family portrait of a
lady, in an ebony frame, with a gilt edge next the
picture — the fair subject of the painter's toil,
simpering in all the prim complacency of con-
scious loveliness, like my Lady Pentweazle
about " to call up a look ;" her head turned one
way, her eyes looking another, with long lappet-
sleeves, covering her arm half-way below the
elbow, and a parrot perched upon her wrist.

The rest of the furniture was equally substan-
tial and old fashioned ; more conformable to ideas
of ancient magnificence, than modern conveni-
ence. The chairs and tables were cut, carved

OLCCOURT. 117

and curved into all sorts of knots, knobs, and
notches, like irregular rows of gingerbread nuts,
twisted into every awkward variety of spiral
shapes, spindle proportions, and curviUnear pro-
jections ; the whole having a sombre air of di-
lapidated dignity, and long established discom-
fort, which, while it is sufiered to prevail in a
mansion, pretty plainly indicates, that the pro-
prietor has either not inherited the wealth, or
has much degenerated from the taste of his
ancestors.

The baronet's attention was attracted by a
small corner -cupboard kind of book- case, in one
of the angles of the room, between the chimney-
piece and the window, of modern construction ;
which seemed recently fitted to its place, and
corresponded to an object similar in appearance,
at the opposite angle, masking a wash-hand
bason, water jug, &c.

On drawing aside a green silk curtain, a small
collection of books, neatly bound, was presented
to view ; and, as D'Arcy was of opinion, not
unreasonably, that a great deal of the character of
its inhabitants is to be collected from the books
that are found in a house, he was glad to have an
opportunity of trying, by this test, the intellectual
pretensions of the family of Oldcourt.

The volumes that appeared to have been most

118 OLBCOURT.

used, ^Yere " Prayer-books/' " The Manual of a
Christian/' and " The Life of St. Francis
Xavier/' He next took up a French work, in a
very handsome binding, "Telemaque /' and in one
of the blank leaves was written, in a small
beautiful hand, " Grace Oldcourt, her book ; the
gift of her reverend and revered friend and in-
structor. Father Clancy/' A volume of Tasso
next presented itself, from which, as he opened it,
a manuscript fell out. D'Arcy, from his know-
ledge of Latin, immediately discovered it to be an
exercise of translation into prose, from that poet,
wTitten in the same beautiful hand, with some few
corrections in a very different character. Some
volumes of history, voyages, and travels. Pope's
Homer, Dryden's Virgil, Tooke's Pantheon, the
Sermons of Massillon and Bourdaloue in French,
Robinson Crusoe, and Sir Charles Grandison,
made up the rest of the collection.

The baronet immediately concluded, that this
small selection of literature was particularly ap-
propriated to Miss Oldcourt ; and he formed from
it a very favourable opinion of her taste and
attainments. She evidently understood French,
and had some knowledge of Italian. Her hand-
writing he particularly admired ; and good pen-
manship w^as, at that time, by no means so
common an accomplishment amongst young

OLDCOURT. 119

ladies, as at present. Though he had not so
much faith in graphic indications, as the auto-
graph-fanciers of our day, he could not but
augur favourably, from her striking proficiency
in an art, which so many practise, and in which
so few are found to excel.

His various speculations on the probable per-
sonal and mental qualities of Miss Oldcourt,
occupied him very agreeably for a considerable
time ; till at length, the sanguine impression
which w^as their result, co-operating with the
vision of beauty, which had burst upon his view
just before dinner, conjured up in his ardent
imagination, su^h a paragon of female perfec-
tion, that he resolved to break through all re-
straint, and satisfy his curiosity immediately.

Having, therefore, ascertained that the ladies
had retired from the convivial board, he looked
in the glass, adjusted his somev/hat deranged
coiffure, and thought that a little paleness, the
consequence of Mr. M'Cabe's operation, be-
came him. A rich silk handkerchief, tied grace-
fully round his neck, supported his w^ounded
arm ; and, on the whole, appeared to him to give
an interesting air to his figure. After concerting
a few complimentary apologies to Mrs. Oldcourt,
for being so much better than she had anti-
cipated, or indeed, than he ought to be, ac-

120

OLDCOURT.

cording to all judicious medical forecast, on such
occasions, the gallant baronet proceeded forth-
with to present himself in the drawing-room.

When the gentlemen adjourned to the ladies'
apartment, they were not a little surprised to
find the invalid, whom they supposed to be in
bed, or languidly reclining upon a sofa, estab-
lished m the female coterie before them, and
apparently quite at home.

The conversation had evidently been of the
most animated character on the baronet's part ;
and the manner in which he was encircled by
his fair auditors, together with the subsiding glow
of vivacity on every countenance, indicated at
once, how successfully he had exerted himself
for their entertainment.

On his entrance, Mrs. Oldcourt had absolutely
started with astonishment, and uttered divers
exclamations of alarm for the consequences of
his indiscretion. But he had the address to turn
aside her dissatisfaction at his neglect of her
injunctions, by ascribing to the regimen and the
repose which he had resorted to, through her
kind advice, the restoration of that strength,
which made him so impatient to ofTer her his
acknowledgments. D'Arcy had too much self-
possession, and was too well trained in fashion-
able life, to suffer any embarrassment in such

OLDCOURT. 121

circumstances : with the grace and tact of a man
of the world, he set all parties at their ease with
him, by appearing to be at his ease himself.

The ladies of the Oldcourt party, were, there-
fore, soon influenced in his favour ; and he had
so effectually recommended himself to their good
graces, by his politeness, his pleasantry, and
information, before the guests from the dining-
room broke in upon their entretien, that the old
ladies, as well as the young, tacitly acknow-
ledged, he was the most agreeable man in the
world.

As the squire remained in the dining-room,
listening to Mr. Denny Burne's " one word,"
Mrs. Oldcourt was obliged to do the honours ;
and she introduced the baronet to Doctor Bowen,
Father Clancy, and the young men of the party.
With the eldest son of the family, D'Arcy had
already established a httle intimacy, which they
seemed mutually desirous to cultivate.

Barry Oldcourt had a decided predilection for
a military life. A soldier, therefore, w^as always
to him an interesting personage ; and there was
an open, spirited air about the baronet, that was
peculiarly congenial to the disposition of his
young acquamtance.

Mr. Bob Burton beheld the baronet with no
friendly eye. He had often heard that the influ-

VOL. III. G

122 OLDCOURT.

ence of a red coat was all-powerful with the fair
sex ; and as, in this case, it appeared to be
strengthened by the formidable auxiliaries of
such a person, title, and fortune, as D'Arcy
possessed, even Mr. Burton's confidence in his
own pretensions could not entirely prevent a
little sinking of the spirits, in a foreboding ap-
prehension of the consequences.

When the young grazier entered the room,
the baronet was seated between Grace Oldcourt
and Miss Burton, describing, wath great humour,
a fashionable party in the back settlements of
America, and a co?iversazio?ie among the Che-
rokees ; while the youns; ladies listened with

JO

every expression of delighted attention, and in-
voluntary admiration.

Mr. Burton, to use an appropriate expression,
was " struck all of a heap." Macbeth, himself,
on seeing, in Banquo's glass, the succession of his
race, was hardly more disturbed. Sidling up to
his sister, in an awkward meander of ill man-
ners, he angrily asked her, " What she was
grinning at?"— sulked, as vain and vulgar people
generally do, when they find other persons more
agreeable than themselves, and slinking into a
corner, sat shaking one of his crossed legs, and
fiddling diligently v.ith his watch-chain, for the
greater part of the evening.

OLDCOURT. 123

But, to no individual of the party was the pre-
sence of the baronet more unacceptable, than to
Pierce Doran. This young man, the foster-bro-
ther of Grace Oldcourt, and an humble friend
of the family, had long looked upon that beautiful
girl with an admiration, which, in him, amounted
almost to idolatry; and latterly, with the sanguine
infatuation of a lover, he had begun to conceive
hopes, and speculate on possibilities, which, in
his more rational moments, he dared scarcely to
confess, even to himself.

The avowed attentions, and confident expec-
tations of Mr. Bob Burton, excited in him no
alarm. Grace Oldcourt was not a girl to be
favourably impressed by such a suitor, even
though parental influence should back his pre-
tentions. But though he did not fear the grazier,
he disliked him very much ; for that arrogant
and ignorant young gentleman had ahvays con-
ducted himself towards Doran, with the unfeeling
disregard which upstart wealth is generally pleased
to manifest towards dependent merit.

D'Arcv was a rival of a different description ;
and poor Doran's heart sunk within him, as he
contemplated the brilhant qualities of the young
soldier. That he was an admirer of Miss Old-
court, was immediately evident ; that he should
not become her lover, was impossible ; and that

124 OLDCOURT.

he might be successful in his suit, was but too
probable. Such conclusions, rushing upon his
mind with almost the force and rapidity of in-
tuition, at once dissipated some flattering visions
which had begun to float in Doran's imagination,
and darkened his hopes to the deepest hue of
despondency.

Before Doran could take a seat, Grace Old-
court beckoned him to the groupe in which Sir
Walter D'Arcy was included, and laughingly
said : —

" Oh, Pierce, we have been so entertained with
an account of your favourites! I wish you had
been here." Then turning to the baronet, she
added, —

" Mr. Doran is a great admirer of the Ame-
ricans."

" Indeed?" replied the former : " but that may
be. We sometimes admire, at a distance, what
a closer inspection w^ould lead us to disapprove."

" My admiration. Miss Oldcourt," said Doran,
gravely, " is not of the people, but their cause."

The mortifying state of the American contest,
at this period, made every officer who had served
in the colonies, a little sore on the subject ; and
D'Arcy thought this open avowal of Doran's
opinion, rather indelicate towards him. With a
good-humoured smile, however, he observed : —

OLDCOURT.

125

*' Mr. Doran, I dare say, will not expect me
to agree with him in sentiment on that subject.
'* In this coat," looking at his uniform, " I can-
not advocate the cause of the Americans; and,
perhaps, in mercy to me, the young gentleman
will postpone their defence."

" Most readily, sir," rephed Doran, with a stiff
bow ; " they seem so well able to defend them-
selves, that they have no need of my assistance."
D'Arcy reddened at this retort ; but before he
could trust himself to comment upon it, the
speaker had turned upon his heel, and moved to
another part of the room. Suppressing his irri-
tation, therefore, in one of his most engaging
smiles, he said, —

" I fancy I shall have a better chance with the
ladies than the gentlemen on this subiect. The
fair are always loyal and true."

" Papa and my brothers are all on your side.
Sir Walter," eagerly observed Grace Oldcourt.
" Pierce Doran is the only friend the Americans
have in the house, I assure you; and, poor fellow I
we lead him a sad life about it. But he promises
that I shall convert him."

" Convert him !" exclaimed the baronet ;
" your doctrines. Miss Oldcourt, must be irre-
sistible to all men. For my part, were you to
preach up a new revolution in church and state »

126 OLDCOURT.

I would not answer for my loyalty, or my re-
ligion."

" Bravo, young gentleman!" exclaimed Doctor
Bowen, coming up at the moment, while the fair
object of the baronet's compliment was covered
with confusion, at the warmth with which it was
expressed.

" But,*' continued he, " I am sure you are too
good a Christian, and a subject, to sacrifice either
to your gallantry."

The baronet bowed, and Miss Arabella Burton,
who appeared to sit by no means easy on her
chair, after so decisive a manifestation of his
homage to her friend, with a pretty pouting lip,
now said : —

" My ma and me can't abide the Americans ;
though my brother Bob is always taking their part.
But I'm sure, from every thing one hears of
them, they must be little better than savages."

" There are certainly savages in America, Miss
Burton," replied D'Arcy ; " but they are to be
found only amongst the native Indians. The
colonists are very far from deserving that appel-
lation."

"From the amusing description you have just
given us of them, sir," remarked the widow Bur-
ton, '■' I should suppose they can be little better
than brutes."

OLDCOURT. 127

" If I have said any thing to justify such an in-
ference, my dear madam," rejoined D'Arcy, " I
must beg to retract the statement. The descrip-
tion to which you did me the honour to attend,
was merely a hidicrous relation of the habits pre-
vailing amongst a few rude stragglers of the Ame-
rican woods, who approach, in some degree, to the
barbarism of the wild tribes that wander in their
neighbourhood ; but the Anglo-American people
resemble ourselves in their laws, morals, and man-
ners. Though we are unfortunately enemies, I
should be sorry to misrepresent them. They are
good soldiers and enlightened citizens; and the
only drawback on their character, which I shall
take the hberty to suggest, is included in the ex-
pression of my regret that they are not also loyal
subjects.''

Well, sir," said the widow Burton, " to be sure,
you must know best, as you have been so much
among 'em; and I'm sure you have good reason
to bless your stars that you are safe at home
again, out of their cruel clutches."

This, rather unhappy mode of congratulating a
soldier on his escape from a successful enemy,
excited a general laugh, in which the baronet and
the well-meaning widow good-humoaredly par-
ticipated.

128 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER IX.

Mrs. Oldcourt began to look rather anxi-
ously for the appearance of the squire, who, to
her great relief, now joined the party. From
long experience of what commonly took place
on such occasions, that good lady had been ra-
ther uncomfortably apprehensive, lest Mr. Denny
Burne's company, or the nectar of her own
brewing, which, her husband always declared,
"was a liquor for the gods," and to which he was
generally accustomed to resort, at the close of
a wine party, " just to settle the claret in his
stomach," — she had been, I say, for some little
time, apprehensive, that under the influence of
these two seductions, her good man might be
tempted to delay longer in the dining-room, and
indulge himself in a more liberal allowance of
his favourite sedative, than would be decorous,
or respectful to his guests.

OLDCOURT, 1*29

The squire, however, was as steady and sober,
as the gout and his good humour would permit.
He immediately began to express his regret to
the baronet, that his friend. Major Ogle, should
have deserted them so soon ; and under the in-
fluence of feelings so unfavourable to that social
intercourse to which, it was hoped, the dinner
of the day would have been the happy intro-
duction.

The baronet, who, to do him justice, had
never once thought of his friend, was quite
shocked, when he discovered, from the obscure
and delicate hints of his host, the nature of
the misunderstanding which had taken place ;
and he knew the major too well, not to guess
easily at the cause. He expressed the greatest
mortification at his friend's conduct ; he said
" he was aware that Major Ogle held strong
party opinions on some unfortunate subjects ;
but he hoped Mr. Oldcourt would do him
(D'Arcy) the justice to believe, that he did not
share in such prejudices."

The squire shook him heartily by the hand,
and declared he was quite sure, he had no opi-
nions that would not do credit to a soldier and
a gentleman. " He had frequently met his
father. Sir Patrick, in former times ; — he was of

a noble old stock, and he often regretted "

G 2

130 OLDCOURT.

Here Mrs, Oldcourt broke in upon the course
of the squhe's observations, which she feared
was about to take an awkward direction ; and
touching his arm at the precise point, where
the baronet began to have recourse to a Uttle
cough, which sometimes comes to our reUef,
when we desire not to hear som^ething our-
selves, or would prevent others from hearing
it, — she observed : —

*' My dear Mr. Oldcourt, we are going to have
a Httle music. Miss Burton will be so good as
to favour us with a tune on the harpsichord."

Miss Burton here declared, in a way which
indicated that she did not think her powers suffi-
ciently appreciated, — that she never played tunes ;
and indeed she did not know a tune in the
world."

This again was too much for Mr, Bob Burton.
He did not at all understand why his sister should
depreciate her musical, any more than her diges-
tive powers ; and, therefore, bouncing up from
his seat, to that young lady's great embarrass-
ment, he exclaimed : —

" By Gemini I why. Bell, you rattled away
last night with * Money in both Pockets,' and
• Patrick's Day in the Morning,' till you made
my head ache."

" Robert, my dear," observed the widow Bur-

OLDCOURT. 131

ton, with some displeasure, " bow can you dis-
tress your sister in that manner ?"

" \Miy, mother," repUed that indiscreet youns:
gentleman, " T don't see the use of Bell's strum-
ming away her whole day, if she won't play when
she's asked. I'll engage Miss Oldcourt wont
refuse to oblige her friends."

This complimentary contrast, so much to
Miss Oldcourt's advantage, somewhat discon-
certed both young ladies ; — and [Mrs. Burton, in
a serious tone, desired her daughter to " try if
she could not recollect something, to show she
was willing to gratify the company."

To say the truth, however, it is but justice to
Miss Arabella Burton to acknowledge, that so
far was she from feeling any reluctance to com-
ply with the entreaties of her friends, that she
was actually burning, all the time, with a desire
to indulge them by a display of her powers ;
and merely meant, by a Httle politic coyness, to
enhance the value of the favour. \Yith the
most amiable, but apparently distressed conde-
scension, therefore, she at length yielded to the
general solicitation ; and moved gracefully to the
instrument, conducted by Barry Oldcourt.

But such a gratification as a performance of
Miss Burton's, was not to be obtained, with-

132 OLDCOURT.

out farther preliminaries. All Miss Oldcourt^s
music was now to be turned over, to see if some
piece could not be found, with which she was
acquainted, as she said she never played without
book.

Here Mr. Bob Burton again interposed, with
his usual indiscretion, and his favourite excla-
mation : —

" By Gemini ! — Why, Bell, how can you say
that?"

An expressive look from his mother, however,
whose eye he happened to catch at the moment,
checked the progress of his expostulation, and he
contented himself with assisting in the search,
which occupied his sister and young Oldcourt
for some time.

" My gracious, Pierce ! how pale you look ! "
said Grace Oldcourt to young Doran, as she
passed near him, while the rummage was going
on. " I am afraid they have made you take too
much wine."

" Do I appear as if I were tipsy. Miss Old-
court ? " rephed the young man, in a tremulous
voice.

" Oh dear, no 1 " was the answer ; " but I am
afraid you are ill."

" Oh ! Grace," rejoined he, " you are too

OLDCOURT. 133

good to me. If I am ill, it is because I am
getting sober. I have been intoxicated too
long."

He turned ofF to conceal his emotion ; and
Grace, surprised at his unusual manner, said to
her youngest brother, who just approached her,
at the moment, —

" I am sure, Phil., something is the matter
with Pierce Doran, he seems to be so out of
spirits."

The examination of Miss Oldcourt's music -
books having proved fruitless. Miss Burton ex-
pressed her surprise to find nothing but songs;
and at length sat down to the instrument, de-
claring that she was quite sure she could not
recollect a note of any thing in the world. She
now also discovered that the instrument was a
spinet, — " and she could not abide playing upon
a spinet. Her instrument was a harpsichord,
by one of the first makers ; a present from her
poor pa, who gave such a sight of money for it :
and she wondered Miss Oldcourt didn't get a
harpsichord."

She now, however, with a shrug of resignation,
expressive of her distress at being obliged to ex-
hibit her powers under such disadvantages, pro-
ceeded to divest her delicate hands of her gloves ;
and where does my fair reader think she depo-

134 OLDCOURT.

sited them ? Not, as is the practice with young
ladies of the present day — with her fan and her
pocket-handkerchief, on the instrument before
her, — but absolutely in — her pocket ! For, in-
credible as it must appear to an age which tole-
rates on the figure of a fashionable e'legante, no
such lateral appendages, at the period when Miss
Arabella Burton flourished, two little pouches or
w^allets were regularly suspended, one on each side
even of the most delicate and sylph-like forms;
and under cover of an encircling frame-work,
or projection of vast circumference, called a hoop,
they formed a most convenient depot for pur-
ses, pocket-handkerchiefs, pin-cushions, smelling-
bottles, thimbles, scissors, tooth -pick cases, rouge -
boxes, patch-boxes, and billets-doux. In short,
in those capacious receptacles, were commonly
to be found, a complete assortment of all the
various and then deemed indispensable articles,
Tvhich, in a portable shape, could administer to the
personal ease or accommodation of the fair sex ;
and of which, I should fear, they must now, on
many occasions, very sensibly feel the want.

Miss Burton, however, having consigned her
fan and gloves to one of the little depositories in
question, adjusted the numerous rings on her
rather rosy fingers, and was about to begin; — but
the process of preparation had been so long, that

OLDCOURT. 135

the company were obliged to draw upon their
own resources for amusement during the delay ;
and though Miss Oldcourt, two of her brothers,
the widow Burton, her son, and Pierce Doran,
were all attention — standing close to the fair per-
former, in a half-circle of the most placid expec-
tation— the baronet was engaged in a conversa-
tion w^ith Mrs. Oldcourt and jNIiss Matty Mai one,
which, to judge by the frequent exertion of their
risible muscles, those two ladies appeared particu-
larly to enjoy. Doctor Bowen and Father Clancy
were deep in parish politics ; Garret Oldcourt,
the second son, was busily employed in tickhng
his favourite spaniel, that lay on his back on the
carpet ; and the squire, in his usual corner, had
given some sonorous indications that Miss Bur-
ton might expect an accompaniment to her music,
for which she was not prepared.

That a fine performer should proceed under
such circumstances, was not to be expected.
Miss Burton, therefore, just struck a chord of
the instrument, as a preparative, and turning
round, by a most significant look towards the
parties, expressed her displeasure at the collo-
quial buzz that prevailed in the room ; her
mamma most ably seconding her rebuke, by a
dignified toss of the head, and a still more dark and

136 OLDCOURT.

angry glance at the offenders, which at once
reduced them to shame and silence.

But the pecuhar interruption that Mr. Oldcourt
seemed disposed to indulge in, was not to be
suspended by signal. His good lady was, there-
fore, obliged to " run alongside," as the sailors
say, and slily twitch his elbow, before he could be
regulated to that pacific state of repose, which
characterizes the decorous somnolence of the
elderly amateurs at the Ancient Concert.

" Now for it. Bell!" said Mr. Bob Burton;
and that young lady, perceiving a general pause
of expectation, — squaring her elbows, and grace-
fully waving her head from side to side, in the
true professional taste, immediately set off in a
dashing prelude, which was intended to flourish
through the whole range of the instrument, and
wind up with a startling succession of semi -tones
from the bass to the treble. But, alas! it turned
out to be a nondescript jumble of confused chords,
hobbling arpeggios, and inarticulate discords.

She boldly proceeded, however, to rattle
through the " Battle of Prague" ; but, breaking
down in the middle of the engagement, like many
other great performers in a different field, she
lost her head, — became utterly confused, and
looked like a full- dressed doll in the scarlet fever.

OLDCOURT. 137

At length, jumping up from her seat, she declared
the instrument was in such wretched order, that
it was impossible to play on it ; then, flouncing
into a distant chair, she sat pouting, panting, and
fanning herself, in that unhappy state of mortifi-
cation, which generally and justly attends the
injudicious efforts of an ambition, which, unsus-
tained by talent, is stimulated only by vanity.

Poor Mrs. Burton was terribly disconcerted by
her daughter's failure ; and her brother Bob
swore, " by Gemini !" he often heard Bell play
that piece down to the ' Turkish Quick Step,'
without missing a note."

Dr. Bowen now requested that Miss Oldcourt
would indulge him with his favourite air. " He
professed to be no judge of music ; but he de-
lighted in the ancient melodies of Ireland and
Scotland, which spoke to the heart rather than
the ear, and pleased as much by sentiment as
sound."

Miss Oldcourt, with a blush, declared her
willingness to comply with the doctor's request ;
and the baronet was alert in handing her to the
instrument, taking post himself behind her.

Grace Oldcourt neither possessed, nor affected
to possess any particular musical power — vocal
or instrumental. She had little opportunity of

138

OLDCOURT.

cultivating her talents in either department.
Her skill on the spinet was, therefore, limited
to a neat and tasteful accompaniment of her
voice ; and her songs were all of that simple
unambitious character, in which her pecuharly
sweet tones, natural sensibility, and good ear,
always pleased, sometimes delighted, and often
affected her hearers.

She felt that she had never before attempted
to sing, under such strong feelings of embar-
rassment, or with so much doubt of her success ;
and she attributed her more than ordinary trepi-
dation, to the presence of a superior judge, in
the person of the baronet. Turning to him with
a smile, while a glow of diffidence heightened
her complexion to the richest hue of beauty,
she said : —

" I fear my humble effort will require great
indulgence, from Sir Walter D'Arcy's cultivated
taste."

" I will not," he replied, " oilend Miss Old-
court's delicacy, by premature compliment, or
anticipated admiration ; but if a cultivated taste
be necessary to appreciate her strains, there can
be no value attached to my praises ; for, I am
sorry to say, I am quite an ignoramus. Like
most young men who move in a certain sphere.

OLDCOURT. 139

I diligently attended the Opera, when in London ;
but to confess my barbarism, I prefer the ballad
style to the bra\aira."

" I fear you must now," rejoined Grace,
laughing. '' prepare for the rustic style."

" Which will, T dare say, supersede both in
my estimation ;" said he.

Doctor Bowen's favourite air was the long-
celebrated strain of the Irish harp, called " Molly
Astore ;" rendered subsequently familiar to the
English ear, as adapted to Sheridan's words in
the " Duenna," and more recently, by Moore's
muse in the Irish ^Melodies.

This exquisite song was then commonly as-
sociated with poetry of an ancient date ; and
" Banna's Banks," may compete in pathos, if
not in poetry, with the rival effusions by which
it has been superseded.

For her performance in this song, Grace Old-
court had obtained a good deal of local celebrity :
and though labouring under considerable em-
barrassment, at the outset, she certainly sang it,
on the present occasion, wdth a sweetness and
simplicity, w^hich must have gratified any un-
perverted taste. There was just enough of orna-
ment for grace, and of emphasis for feeling, —
without violating the character of the song, to
display the powers of the singer.

140 OLDCOURT.

Doctor Bowen was delighted ; — Father Clancy
told Mrs. Oldcourt, whose good-humoured face
beamed with maternal joy and affection, that
" he never heard Grace sing so well ;" — and the
baronet was eloquent and enthusiastic, if not
learned, in his raptures.

The Burton's declared, " it was mighty
pretty;" and they were quite sure, if Miss Old-
court did but practise, she would sing " very
nicely." They perceived, however, that it was
getting late ; rang for the carriage, and took
their leave.

Miss Oldcourt, at the urgent entreaty of the
baronet, went through some other plaintive me-
lodies, of ancient renown amongst the bards of
Erin, conducting herself through the whole with
that sensitive delicacy of deportment, which pre-
serves the happy medium between an affected
confidence on the one hand, and an aw^kward
shyness on the other.

Tn the devotedness of his attention, D'Arcy
betrayed the impression she had made upon him.
He seemed captivated alike through his eye and
his ear. The two clergymen, however, having
retired, Mrs. Oldcourt insisted that Grace
should no longer co-operate in detaining Sir
Walter D'Arcy from the repose, which was so
essential to his invalid state. She could not

OLDCOURT. 141

*

answer to her medical responsibility, if she al-
lowed him to extend an indulgence which, she
feared, had been already carried too far for his
health ; and the party accordingly broke up, with
the most profuse expressions of gratification and
gratitude, on the part of the baronet, and the
most cordial manifestations of hospitality, on the
part of his kind hosts.

142 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER X

The presence of Sir Walter D'Arcy at the
Castle of Oldcourt, produced a sensation which
contributed not a little to disturb the slumbers,
not only of its inhabitants, but also, of some of
those who had been that day its guests.

The widow Burton saw very clearly, that the
baronet was quite captivated by Miss Oldcourt,
and likely to prove rather a formidable rival to
her son, who, she feared, had made no sort of
progress in that young lady's good graces. The
match, therefore, to which she had looked with so
much anxiety, and towards which she thought
she had propitiated Mrs. Oldcourt, appeared to
her to be now in a very unsatisfactory state.

Mr. Bob Burton himself, began to suspect
that the fair object of his choice (for he had
taken it fcr granted, he had but to throw the

OLDCOURT. 143

handkerchief,) was by no means so sensible of
his attractions, personal and pecuniary, as she
ought to be ; and before his troubled spirit had
subsided into that happy state, in \Yhich visions
of horses and hounds, fairs and fat cattle,usu ally
occupied his fancy, he had nearly determined to
transfer his attentions to another quarter, where
he had some reason to think they would be more
favourably received.

Poor Miss Arabella Burton had suffered so
many mortifications, in the course of the evening,
that they haunted her imagination even in her
sleep, and mingling with her dreams, produced a
kind of musical night-mare, under the influence
of which, her fame and her feelings were still
more cruelly discomfited.

She thought she was in the midst of a large
circle of envious belles, enamoured beaux, and
provincial dilettanti, whose admiration she was
about to excite, by a triumphant display of her
powers. But, to her horror, while professing to
play Handel's Water Music, and Bach's Grand
Overture, as if bewitched, she produced no sounds
but those of " Moll in the Wad,*' and " Stoney-
Batter," rattling their piperly peculiarities with an
involuntary vigour, that astounded the company,
put herself out of temper, her harpsichord out of
tune, and her hearers out of patience.

144 OLDCOURT.

The pillow cogitations of Mrs. Oldcourt were
not less busy, though rather more agreeable than
those which prevailed amongst the Burtons.
Her opinions, indeed, had undergone a sudden
change with reference to that family. Mr. Bob
Burton did not by any means appear in her eye,
so good a match for Grace as she had been pre-
viously disposed to consider him ; and she
" wondered how she ever thought of such a thing.
Though he was rich and respectable, he was vulgar
and absurd ; and she was sure her darling might
do much better."

There is very little doubt that the baronet was
mainly instrumental in producing this alteration
in Mrs. Oldcourt' s sentiments ; and a train of
speculations arose in her mind, all of which were
more or less connected with his appearance at the
castle, and its possible consequences.

A baronet, certainly, was not a fish to be
caught in every water ; and though not much
accustomed to throw her line in that way, she
knew enough of matrimonial anghng, to prevent
a doubt of securing him with such a bait as
Grace Oldcourt ; "a girl, she would say,
that would become any rank or station."

She several times repeated to herself the
name of " Lady D'Arcy/' with an exulting glow
of maternal anticipation ; and thought how much

OLDCOURT. 145

better it sounded than the plebeian appellation of
Mrs. Bob Burton.

There was one reflection, however, which
tended to cloud these bright prospects ; — the
baronet was a Protestant. To be sure, a dif-
ference of religion was not an insuperable ob-
jection ; for she had, in her father's family, an
instance, that the wife and daughters might be
very good Catholics, while the husband and his
eldest son secured their property by, at least,
an outward conformity to the established church.
She thought it very probable, that the baronet's
father, in professing the new faith, had been
actuated by a similar policy ; and, therefore, Sir
Walter might not object to an arrangement
which would leave Grace in the full enjoyment
of her own creed.

To a feverish succession of such maternal ru-
minations, did the excellent mistress of the
mansion devote a great portion of her night.
She, however, judiciously confin^ed her hopes
and wishes to her own breast. The squire, she
knew, was by no means a safe confidant, or
prudent co-operator in such delicate matters ;
and, moreover, the fatigue arising from the
zealous performance of his convivial functions
during the day, had contributed to place him so
fully and so audibly under the sonorous sway of

VOL. III. H

146 OLDCOURT.

the drowsy god, that the idea of a curtain
colloquy was quite out of the question.

Pierce Doran had retired to his humble couch
in the barrack department of the castle, where
a whole regiment of dependants, might be, and
sometimes were, accommodated, under such a
depression of spirits as he had never before
experienced. From what had occurred in the
course of the day which had just closed, the
lynx-eyed penetration of a lover's fears saw
quite enough to convince him, that he had
allowed himself to indulge in a wild de-
lirium of hope, from which he was about to be
awakened, to the sad and sober certainty of
disappointment.

Long he walked about his room, in a tumult
of emotion, which he could neither calm down,
in any rational estimate of his present position,
nor reconcile to any justifiable consideration of
his future prospects. At length, exhausted and
desponding, he threw himself on his bed, without
divesting himself of his clothes ; and the morning
found him unrefreshed, irresolute, and wretched.

The baronet had been conducted to his room
by Barry Oldcourt, who, after kindly supplying
whatever assistance the disabled state of his
friend's arm rendered necessary, left him to
his repose.

OLDCOURT. 147

The excitement of the day, however, pre-
cluded immediate sleep ; and for some time, in
his recmnbent position, our hero was engaged in
a busy retrospect of scenes and occurrences, in
which Grace Oidcourt was, as may be supposed,
the principal figure.

D'Arcy was not a man to fall in love at first
sight ; and though, in his intercourse with the
fair sex, he had often been influenced by that
sort of feeling which is usually called love, in
the language of men of gallantry, yet his heart
had never been touched by the true passion.

The only sentiment, indeed, at all approaching
to what should be termed love, that he had
ever experienced, was that which poor Agnes
Hartley excited in his breast ; and certainly, the
admiration he felt for the innocent simplicity
and unostentatious virtues of her character, con-
tributed to refine and dignify the feeling with
which he had regarded her.

In Grace Oidcourt, D'Arcy had been struck
by a beauty more peculiar and piqiiante than
that of any female whom he had hitherto seen.
Her person has been already presented to the
reader, as far as the writer's pen could describe,
those charms which the most skilful pencil would
be inadequate to display. To the witchery of

148 OLDCOURT.

her manners, it would be still more difficult for
either instrument to render justice.

Though not exactly conformable to any con-
ventional standard, — thougli not cast in a fashion-
able mould, or bearing tbe current stamp of cha-
racter which it impresses, — there was a natural
ease, an unstudied, unaffected elegance in her
demeanour, which it is the ambition of art to
imitate, even in its m.ost arbitrary refinements ;
and to a sensibihty so easily excited, that it
seemed to breathe in her every accent, and live
in every look, there was associated a vivacity so
graceful and engaging, that, in the moment of its
influence, she seemed formed only for mirth and
joy.

D'Arcy had become sufficiently hlas'c in society,
to be rather insensible to tbe ordinary allure-
ments of female manners. The sweets which
sagacious mammas prepare for the matrimonial
feast, according to the common receipt-books of
fashionable education, had lost their effect upon
him ; but for a character so pure and artless as
that of Grace Oldconrt, he had a high relish; and
his taste acknowledged the attraction of innocence
unallied to ignorance, simplicity unaccompanied
by coarseness, and grace unspoiled by affectation.
He had never seriously thought of matrimony ;

OLDCOURT. 149

nor was there any thing in his present feelings,
which required him to meditate on that subject.
He was sensible that Miss Oldcourt was altogether
the most interesting drl he had ever met with ; but
her station in society, and the family by which
she was surrounded, put the views of ordinary gal-
lantry quite out of the question. Without any
ulterior object, therefore, our hero determined to
cultivate diligently his intercourse with the castle,
as a social resource from which he might expect
to derive the highest gratification, during his resi-
dence in the neighbourhood; and having thus
settled the matter for the present, he resigned
himself to rest.

But of all the parties whose slumbers were dis-
turbed by the occurrences of the day, Grace
Oldcourt was the most surprised at the insomnie
with which she was visited. GeneraUy speaking,
those three great promoters of repose — innocence,
exercise, and good spirits, were quite successful
in her case, and precluded all necessity for
narcotics.

She no sooner placed her head upon her pillow,
than Morpheus attended with all his poppies,

" To steep her senses in forgetfulness ;"
and the only complaint she ever made against

150 OLDCOURT.

him, -was, that by his potent spells, the progress of
time seemed to be arrested, and such a suspen-
sion of her existence took place, as rendered her
insensible to that lethargic luxury of conscious
somnolence, when, after a sound nap of half the
night, you are sufficiently awake to be aware that
you have only to turn on the other side, and in-
dulge in a similar delight till morning.

There are, T believe, few persons who will not
acknowledge that this enjoyment is not to be
despised; and in town, it is considerably en-
hanced by the music of the watchman, w^ho, if he
should chance to be himself disturbed in his re-
pose, by some roaming reveller, contrives to give
you a rather more accurate idea of the hours which
yet remain to be devoted to your downy comforts.

Grace Oldcourt, in the seclusion of her cham-
ber, felt not, this night, the calm w^hich usually
there succeded to the excitements of her day.
She v,^as restless and apprehensive, without
knowing why, or wherefore. Every thing she
had said or done, in the course of the evening,
passed in review before her ; and she never was so
little pleased with herself, because she had never
before been so desirous to please other people.

But, however amiably anxious she was to make
herself agreeable to her friends in general, it
appeared, through the whole course of the scru-

OLDCOURT. 151

tiny to which she had subjected her conduct on
this occasion, that the baronet's judgment was
the only tribunal to which she, in fancy, referred
the merits of the case ; and his decision in her
favour, the only verdict which she particularly
wished to obtain, or which could at all satisfy
her ambition.

She feared, however, that the sanction of his
taste w^as not reasonably to be expected : " how,
indeed, could a country girl like her, w^ho had
never been out of her own county, appear other-
wise than awkward, and even ridiculous, to a man
who w^as conversant with the most elegant and
fashionable circles, in so many different parts of
the world ? He must regard her as a mere rustic,
deficient in all those graces and accomplishments
which characterized the more fortunate objects
of his admiration, in the brilliant sphere to which
he was accustomed.

" But why should she be so anxious about the
opinion of a stranger, introduced to her only by
an accident, whom she had seen and associated
with but once, and whom, after the next day,
she probably would never see again ?" With a
hea\7 "heigh ho !" she declared she was " a very
silly girl ;" and resolving to banish the subject
from her mind, she, according to the pious prac-

1 52 OLDCOURT.

tice of her life, proceeded to her nightly prayers,
as the best means of effecting that object.

She had nearly finished those effusions of in-
nocence and virtue, which, from such pure spirits
are wont to ascend, and breathe a fragrance round
the throne of Heaven, when she perceived that
her thoughts had not accompanied her words;
and, therefore, with much self-reproach, she
began to repeat them again. The second effort,
however, was but little more successful than the
first. The events of the day had made a lodg-
ment in her imagination, from which they were
not so easily expelled ; and the baronet still dis-
turbed her devotion.

She now repeated her orisons aloud, with great
energy of zeal, and resolute concentration of
thought ; hastily taking refuge afterwards in bed,
from, that mental distraction which seems to
grow in proportion as w'e struggle to restrain it ;
and which, interfering with poor Grace Old-
court's repose, as well as her prayers, produced
evidence, in the somewhat diminished lustre of
her complexion, the next morning, that Somnus
had not been as kind to her as usual.

Grace Oldcourt, about this time, had nearly
completed her twentieth year. From the age of
sixteen, when, in a manner so picturesque and

OLDCOURT. 163

unexpected, she was introduced to the Kilboyne
Hunt, as before related, she had been an object
of universal attraction to the surrounding neigh-
bourhood. Protestant and Cathohc united in
worship at her shrine ; for the prejudices of sect
or party cannot interrupt the homage which the
heart of man must ever pay to beauty ; though
they too often interfere with the reverence which
his understanding ought to pay to virtue.

Even the most pow^erful of all the drawbacks
which exist on the attractions of the fair — the
want of fortune, did not chill the admiration she
excited ; though it checked the ardour of those,
who bow at Hymen's shrine, only when they can
profane his altar by the w^orship of Plutus.

The squire was known to be a gentleman of
ancient family and fortune; but an old estate,
like an old man, is commonly distinguished by
decay, and too often aiFected by certain chronic
distempers called incumbrances, which produce
a gradual waste of the solids, and a general
exhaustion of its powers.

The fiscal vigour of the house of Oldcourt
had been, for some generations, in a consump-
tive state ; and the treatment of the patient by
the present operator, seemed so little of a restora-
tive character, that it was suspected rather to
have aggravated the disorder.
H 2

154 OLDCOURT.

To keep up the hospitality for which his family
had been distinguished in the olden time, and to
supply the current expenses of the estabhshment,
were the only objects of the squire's ambition ;
and as long as his children could live in ease
beneath his roof, and participate in those pursuits
and pleasures, which he himself regarded as the
only good below, he considered all their claims
upon him to be discharged with the most unim-
peachable propriety.

Notwithstanding, however, that she was
known to have no fortune, and could not even
pretend to that prospective and contingent dow-ry
of "good expectations," which, in Ireland, so fre-
quently supplies the want of a present portion,
yet, Grace Oldcourt had received many of those
matrimonial overtures, which prudent parents de-
signate as " very good offers \' that is, a number of
persons, of competent wealth and station, w4io
were very httle calculated to contribute to her
happiness, in any other way, had signified their
willingness to supply her, in the character of her
husband, with meat, drink, washing, and lodging,
for the remainder of her natural life.

But Grace had formed to herself a leau ideal
of a Benedict, to which the squirearchy of her
county, Protestant or Catholic, bore not the
least resemblance. The habits, manners, and

0LDC9URT. 155

accomplishments of the hunting, drinking, fight-
ing, and horse-racing heroes of that period, were
but httle to her taste ; she had no sympathy with
their pleasures or pursuits;

** And each successive bumpkin < bowed in vain.' "

While her country Cory dons pleaded their
passion in a rivalry of rent-rolls, and reinforced
their awkwardness by their acres, she amused
herself with their gallant gauckeries, without en-
courcLging their addresses. In a style of playful
vivacity, which turned aside all serious expos-
tulation, she contrived to disconcert the con-
nubial negociations that were actively carried on,
by the different parties, at the congress of Old-
court, and matters still remained in statu quo.

The old squire seldom interfered in such con-
cerns, farther than by the frequent expression of
a hope, " that his dear girl would not be carried
away from him, one of those days, by some of her
scapegrace lovers ; for the castle would be very
dull without her."

Mrs. Oldcourt would, indeed, often sigh and
look sad, as she enumerated the various matri-
monial recommendations of each discarded swain ;
and expatiated on the beauties of the mansion
and the demesne, the income and the equipage,

]56 OLDCOURT.

which seemed to have so little influence on her
daughter.

In reply to some lively picture drawn by
^ Grace, of amorous ^tourderie amongst her vo-
taries, the delighted mother, after having invo-
luntarily joined in the laugh, would shake her
head, take a pinch of snufF, and pathetically
observe, —

" Ah ! my dear Grace, we may be too nice,
and sport with our happiness till it slips through
our fingers. Believe me, my child, when the
substantial of worldly comfort are provided, the
surest foundation is laid for rational fehcity.
You can't expect an angel to descend from
heaven for your accommodation ; and, for my
part, I don't see w^hat you can desire in a hus-
band, more than a plain honest man, w^ho can
support you in ease and affluence. I'm sure, my
darling, if you wait till you lind somebody like
yourself, or worthy of you, in this part of the
world, you'll out-stay your market, as the farmers
say."

" But, my dear mamma/' Grace laughingly
observed, in reply to some of those long esta-
blished maxims of parental policy, which mothers
so diligently inculcate, and daughters so generally
disregard ; "is not a state of single blessedness

OLDCOURT. 157

better than a life of married misery ? How can
I, who Uve only in the affections of my family,
and desire no other enjoyment — who have all I
want in your tenderness, and all I wish for
in your approbation ; how can I quietly resign
myself to the coarse communion of any of
those lively swains, who look at me, as they
would examine a horse at a fair, and bid, and
bargain for me, only as an appropriate addition
to the stock on the farm, and the other goods and
chattels of their establishment V

If Grace generally failed to convince her
mother by her reasoning, she always succeeded in
diverting her by her pleasantry; and the discussion
was sure to close in cloudless good humour, and
mutual endearment.

Tn her eldest brother, Barry Oidcourt, his
sister always found a powerful supporter of her
side of the question. He was handsome, high-
spirited, and ambitious ; full of that elevation of
sentiment which springs, in generous natures,
from a consciousness of a superior descent ; a
source of dignified feeling, and a stimulus to
honourable conduct, which constitute at once the
best defence of family pride, and the only com-
pensation for the evils of aristocratic insolence
and pretension.

He felt deeply the degradation of his country

158 OLDCOURT.

and his religion ; and was indignant at the torpid
and apparently contented state of subjection, in
which the descendants of the ancient race sub-
mitted to the yoke of their oppressors. Under
these impressions, he regarded the Protestant
grandees of his neighbourhood with a proud
hostility, and the Catholic gentry with contempt.
He mixed but little in their society, and had
no pleasure in their coarse pursuits, or baccha-
nalian revelries. His sister he almost worshipped;
he entered into all her feelings, sympathised in all
her tastes, and sharpened, by sarcasm and satire,
her natural disrehsh to the Nimrods and Tony
Lumpkins by whom they were surrounded.

" Good God! my dear mother," he would say,
in private, when one of her " good offers" began to
set her maternal solicitude in motion, — " how
can you think of sacrificing our dear Grace to a
clod of a country squire, who is wholly incapable
of appreciating her value, and who has no other
claim to respect, but a fortune, which, with him,
she cannot enjoy, and which, in all probability,
he will soon squander in low dissipation, and
senseless extravega.nce \"

" Oh ! Barry, my dear," would the kind-
hearted mother reply, "do not encourage your
sister to look down upon those with whom it
must be her lot to live. It would be a sad re-

OLDCOURT. 159

suit of my anxiety to give her those refinements
in which I have felt my own deficiency, if she
were, by that means, unfitted to enjoy the only
kind of happiness which is placed within her
reach. God knows, my son, that my sleep-
ing and waking thoughts, my wishes and my
prayers, are all directed to one end ; to see her
well settled ; established in her own house,
secure from the caprice and casualties of a cold
and unfeeling world. You know your poor
father is not a man to lay up against a rainy day,
and has no notion of hmiting his present en-
joyments, for the advantage of those whom he
may leave behind him."

"That is very true, my dear mother," re-
joined the generous young man ; " but Grace can
never want protectors while her brothers live :
and sure, you would not consider her well
settled, but rather cruelly sacrificed, if her gen-
tle nature, her lively, dehcate, and sensitive
spirit were coupled, in coarse alliance, with a
clown W'ho has not three ideas, — who lives only
with his dogs and horses, and wants a wife,
not as a companion, but as a housekeeper."

" Well Barry," said the anxious mother,
" you may say what you will, but it went to ray
heart, I confess, to see Garret Byrne of Bal-
linahinch discarded ; and young O'Mealy, of

160

OLDCOURT,

Monkstown, sent about his business with so Httle
ceremony. Grace may depend upon it, such
matches won't occur every day in the week ;
both of them fine young men, of her own re-
ligion too, and ready to settle half their incomes
on her."

"My dear mother," replied Barry, "to my
knowledge, half their incomes may be said to be
already settled on their creditors, by bill, bond,
and custodiam ; the other half, believe me, is
fast travelUng the same road. Besides, after
all, what are their merits, to recommend them
to such a girl as Grace ? They are good-
looking, I grant you ; a couple of well-built,
brawny boobies, swaggerers at feasts, fairs, and
horse races ; whose highest ambition it is, to
triumph at a drinking-bout, and rival their own
grooms and gamekeepers."

Amused by the caustic severity of her son's
remarks, the good-humoured matron generally
allowed herself to be vanquished on these occa-
sions, if not convinced ; for she was too amiable
and affectionate in her intercourse with her
children, to call in the force of authority, to put
down the freedom of argument. Giving up the
point, therefore, with a feeling, the expression
of which fluctuated between a sigh and a smile,
she would often say : —

OLDCOURT.

I6i

" Ah ! Barry, your notions, I am afraid, are
too refined for your happiness, in such a world
as we country-folks are doomed to live in. But
God direct you ! my dear children ! What He
wills is always for the best/'

Under the influence of sentiments thus vin-
favourable to the beaux of her neighbourhood,
Grace Oldcourt completed that period of her
existence when " Miss in her teens" is usually a
little romantic in her notions of life and love.
As yet, however, though so many country
Cupids had taken aim at her heart, that little
depot of every female virtue remained appa-
rently untouched, and provokingly impenetrable
to the whole amorous armoury of the county,
which, in successive assaults, had been brought
against it.

An insensibility so persevering was quite
unusual amongst her fair rivals in connubial
speculation, and appeared most extraordinary to
those who had manifested their sense of her
merits, and entertained no doubt of their own.
An impression began to prevail, that to so-
licit Miss Oldcourt's favour, was to court
rejection ; and Mr. Bob Burton was the only
gallant, whose confidence in his own pretensions
had recently encouraged him to proceed upon
such a forlorn hope.

162 OLDCOURT.

"When daughters have turned the corner of
twenty summers, prudent mothers begin to look
about them : and though Mr. Bob Burton was
not exactly the kind of husband she could have
wished for her darling Grace, or whom she could
hope to be acceptable to her too fastidious bro-
ther, yet, as he had more money, more religion,
and altogether more morality than most of the
young men of the county, Mrs. Oldcourt was
disposed to favour his views, and give him an
opportunity to urge his addresses.

To this line of conduct she was prompted, also,
by two other considerations. The number of
those from whom advantageous proposals might
be expected, was rather alarmingly diminished ;
and rumours had reached her, that it w^as sup-
posed, a long-subsisting attachment was the cause
that closed Miss Oldcourt's heart against the
homage of her suitors ; and that those smiles,
for which the best blood in the county had sued
in vain, were reserved for an humble dependant
of the family, in the person of Pierce Doran.

At the first suggestion of this idea to the mind
of Mrs. Oldcourt, that good lady was thrown
into a state of surprise and consternation. The
statement seemed to flash conviction upon her,
and at once to furnish a clue, by which might
be explained the extraordinary indifference with

OLDCOURT. 163

which her daughter rejected " such offers as no
girl in her senses, without fortune, whatever
might be her beauty, would have been mad
enough to refuse." She lamented the folly of
allowing any young man, with good looks, good
sense, and good manners, to associate in the
same house with her daughter, and upon such
an intimate footing; and though she had long
looked upon Pierce Doran as one of the family,
and the worthiest creature in the world, she now
regarded him, for the space of half an hour, at
least, as little better than a monster of wicked-
ness and ingratitude.

But when the fever of alarm began to subside,
and the angry feelings which it created, had been
somewhat calmed by reflection, the lovely form
of Grace Oldcourt, in all her innocence, — her
unstained purity of thought, — her open, artless,
ingenuous simplicity of character, appeared be-
fore her ; and, in a remonstrance of generous
feeling, rushing to a mother's heart, rebuked her
hasty suspicions, and banished all her unfounded
apprehensions.

Overcome by her previous agitation, and her
remorse for the momentary injustice she had
done her darling Grace, the kind hearted parent
threw herself on her daughter's neck, and burst
into tears. She determined to keep to herself

164 OLDCOURT.

what she had heard, and therefore satisfied
Grace's alarmed inquiries, by ascribing her emo-
tion to an hysteric affection) for which she could
not account.

Prudence, however, she thouo;ht, dictated the
propriety of some change in Doran's position, to
put a stop to all such absurd rumours as those
which had so strangely disturbed her. She knew
Pierce Doran was too sensible of his situation,
to be guilty of such presumption ; and he was
incapable, she was sure, of abusing the confi-
dence reposed in him : but his removal from the
castle, which she would devise some mode, ad-
vantageous to him, of effecting, was now expe-
dient for all parties.

Such were the reflections of Mrs. Oldcourt,
and the position of affairs, when Sir Walter
D'Arcy made his first appearance at the castle.
How Pierce Doran became so long established
an inmate there, it shall be the business of the
next chapter to unfold.

OLDCOCRT. 165

CHAPTER XI.

There is, perhaps, no country in the world
where parents are actuated by a stronger affection
for their offspring, than thev are in Ireland ; yet,
strange to say, there are few countries in which,
amongst the better, or rather, the richer classes of
society, that first great duty of a mother, to
nurse her own child, has been so systematically
neglected.

At the period when the characters of this
veracious history strutted and fretted their hour
upon the stage, few women in the sister king-
dom, whose rank placed them above the level of
mechanic life, ever thought of fulfilling a dutv
-which seems so morally and physically impera-
tive ; a duty, for the performance of which, na-
ture has so expressly provided, and the propriety
of which is so strikingly enforced, by the example
of the whole animal creation.

166 OLDCOURT.

That a motlier should resign to a mercenary
breast, the tenderest and most endearing office
of the maternal character, — that she should vo-
luntarily submit to the inconvenience, and even
danger, which frequently ensues from such a
sacrifice, is the more surprising, when we reflect,
that, in all ages and countries, an impression has
prevailed, which would seem to be sufficient,
however ill founded, to alarm the anxiety of a
parent, and put an end to such a practice.

Amongst the ancients, more perhaps than
amongst the moderns, a belief prevailed, that not
only the health, but the disposition of a child,
might be materially influenced by the qualities of
the nurse, from whom its sustenance was de-
rived. Thus the cruelty of Nero was ascribed to
.his nurse; and the common expression of our
day, which says of a man's prejudices and pro-
pensities, that " he sucked them in with his
mother's milk," affords strong proof that a simi-
lar conviction is so far impressed on our own
times, as to have settled into an expression of
idiomatic familiarity and proverbial circulation.

But without philosophising very deeply on the
subject — without considering it either medically or
morally, it may be safely assumed that Nature
speaks pretty plainly to the fair sex respecting it.
That a mother should nurse her own child is in-

OLDCOURT. 167

deed a position, for the truth of which, we may
appeal to every female breast ; and there the maxim
must be acknowledged, however the obligation
w^hich it includes may be violated or evaded.

But as in almost all other cases in which
woman appears to deviate from the natural ami-
ability of her character, the fault may be justly
attributed to man ; so here it is but justice to the
Hibernian ladies to acknowledge, that if they are,
or perhaps I should rather say, have been too
generally unmindful of that particular maternal
duty, to W'hich in the preceding observations 1
have ventured to allude, the neglect of it must, in a
great measure, be ascribed to the evil influence of
the other sex.

An Irish husband has, generally speaking, a
great dishke to see his wife officiating in the cha-
racter of a nurse ; the details which are necessary
m the management, and cradle economy of an
infant, are distasteful to him : he feels uncomfort-
able amongst pap-boats, corals, and caudle-cups;
indeed, he regards it as a kind of effeminacy, to be
at all cognizant of nursery affairs. The infant

'* Muling and puking in the nurse's arms,"
forms one of the seven ages, of which he willingly

1 68 OLDCOQRT.

permits no practical illustration under his own
eye.

Thus it is, that the affectionate mother, whose
bosom may be said to teem with tenderness for
her new born babe, is obliged, in conformity with
the wishes of her husband, to surrender the in-
teresting charge for which nature has rendered
her responsible, to the care and kindness of a
stranger.

As the three great injunctions of the matrimonial
vow on the woman's part, to " love, honour, and
obey" her husband, are no where observed with
a more scrupulous fidelity, than among the mar-
ried fair in Ireland, so the good pleasure of the
husband is a law to the wife in the regulation of
her maternal, as well as of all her other duties ;
and as before stated, the practice almost univer-
sally prevailed amongst respectable people, of put-
ins: their children out to nurse.

Amongst the higher orders of society, the nurse
was commonly engaged to reside in the house ;
but in families where the domestic arrangements
would not conveniently admit of such an inmate,
the children were invariably confided, not only to
the care, but to the cabin of the humble substi-
tute which the mother had provided, to supply her
own place.

OLDCOURT. 169

Thus removed from under the anxious eye of
its natural guardian, and left to the protection
of purchased love, and hireling hospitahty, the
child, for the first two or three years of its ex-
istence, has, not unfrequently, been known to
its parents only through their occasional visits
to its nurse.

But the extraordinary fidelity with which the
delegated trust in question, is almost invariably
executed, by the warm-hearted deputies of pa-
rental duty in Ireland, contributes not a little to
encourage the practice which employs them ;
and if it cannot entirely justify that practice,
it obviates, in a great degree, the ill conse-
quences that might be reasonably expected to
result from it. The nurse, in almost all cases,
becomes much more an object of attachment to
the child than its mother ; and its final removal
from the humble roof which has been so long
the home of its affections, is felt, in its grateful
little heart, as the first calamity of life.

The house of Oldcourt afforded no exception
to the general custom above stated ; and nu-
merous, therefore, were its cradle connexions
among the surrounding peasantry, all of whom
considered themselves entitled to the entree of
the servants' -hall, and the privilege of the pantry

VOL. III. I

1 70 OLDCOURT.

— expected promotion in the menial department
of the estabhshment, and looked confidently, on
all occasions, for that kindly countenance and
protection, from every member of the family,
which they were at all times ready to repay, by
the warmest and most devoted attachment.

The present possessor of the castle yielded
to none of his predecessors, or his contem-
poraries, in his aversion to see his wife a nurse ;
and though Mrs. Oldcourt's affectionate heart
prompted her to the performance of every ma-
ternal function, she was obliged to conform to
the prejudices of her lord and master.

Her children were, therefore, all nursed abroad ;
for though the castle was large enough to ac-
commodate a whole colony of infants, she could
not prevail so far as to have one of her little
babies kept at home ; the squire always declaring
" he would not live within ear-shot of squalling
brats, nurses, and gossips, or suffer any such
troublesome cattle under his roof. A hale, hearty
peasant was the best nurse, and her cabin the
best cradle that any child could have. Such
was the cradling he had got himself, and he did
not see that he was any thing the worse for it ; —
he would engage to hunt, drink, or shoot with
any man in the county; and if he had been
coddled, petted, and pampered on his mother's

OLDCOURT. 171

knee, the case would have been very different,
and he might have been a puny whipster, — a mere
Miss Moily all his life/'

The matter having been thus decided, upon
such sound principles, and by an authority from
which there was no appeal, Mrs. Oldcourt's
privilege was limited to the choice of those per-
sons to whom her infants were to be confided.
When, therefore, after the birth of three sons,
little Grace made her appearance, her delighted
mother felt a more than ordinary anxiety, as
to the selection of a nurse ; and the wife of one
of the most respectable tenants, who otficiated
as a steward on the estate, having been previously
qualiiied for such an office, by presenting to Mr.
Brian Doran a fine chopping boy, was fixed upon
as most worthv of the treasure that was to be
placed in her hands.

Mrs. Doran was proud of so near a connexion
with " the family,'*' and acquitted herself in her
trust, with a vigilance of love and care, which
few persons can well conceive, who have not
had some experience of those affectionate feelings
which throb in the heart of an Irish nurse,
towards " the child whom she has warmed in
her bosom."

So manifestly, indeed, did little Grace con-
tinue to thrive in all respects, in the comfortable

172 OLDCOURT.

cottage of this excellent woman, that the squire
would not suffer her to be removed from it, till
she had nearly completed her fifth year. The
result of this long residence there, however, was,
that with a true poetical taste, Miss Grace pre-
ferred the cottage to the castle, and her mammy
to her mamma. The experience of habitual
kindness, so far superseded the influence of
occasional caresses, and what is called the in-
stinct of nature, that successive attempts to
wean her from her nurse, so agonized the sensi-
tive spirit of the child, as to throw her into
convulsions that threatened her life.

It w^as impossible, however, with any pro-
priety, to leave her longer in Mrs. Doran's cot-
tage. The only remedy, therefore, the case
seemed to admit of, was to induce that good wo-
man, who dreaded the separation almost as much
as the child did, to take up her residence, for some
little time, at the castle.

To this measure, the squire was at length
brought over, by the interest which the beautiful
little sufferer began to excite in his breast ; and
the presence of the nurse succeeded in pacifying
the child's emotions, though it was a long time
before its mother's endearments could reconcile
it to its new residence, or prevent its urgent en-
treaties to its mammy to " go home."

OLDCOURT. 1 73

The temporary sojourn of Mrs. Doran in the
castle, rendered unavoidable the introduction of
another guest there, in the person of Master Pierce
Doran, the chubby young gentleman before men-
tioned, whose entree into the world had preceded
by almost six weeks, that of Miss Grace Oldcourt;
and whose divorce at once from his parent and
his play-fellow, had been attended by results too
boisterous and embarrassing, for any fond mother
to disregard.

A lodgement was, therefore, effected for him in
the family, which eventually proved of a much
more permanent nature, than had been at first
contemplated by any of the parties. The little
fellow was delighted to be allowed again to asso-
ciate with his early companion ; and he was so
nearly her own age, a,nd she had been so much
more accustomed to him, than to any of her bro-
thers, that Grace gave him decidedly the prefer-
ence as a playmate, upon all occasions.

He was, indeed, even in his childhood, well
calculated to make friends for himself ; with an
honest, open, and agreeable countenance, glowing
with health and good humour, he united a dis-
position particularly docile, and manners so gay
and engaging, that he soon became a prime fa-
vourite with the whole estabhshment.

When at length Mrs. Oldcourt's maternal ten-

174 OLDCOURT.

derness had awakened, in the breast of her child,
that attachment which Nature has so wisely made
a consequence of kindness, rather than an im-
pulse of instinct, and when little Grace was suf-
ficiently reconciled to her mother and her man-
sion, to be able to bear the absence of her nurse,
Mrs. Doran was allowed to return to her own
home.

But her son Pierce had become too important
a character in the play-ground of the juvenile
circle, to be spared. The most distant proposition
of his departure was received with a loud and
general remonstrance ; and he appeared to con-
tribute so much to enliven their amusements, by
his extraordinary animal spirits, that Mrs. Old-
court, who really felt a regard for the little fellow,
persuaded his mother to let him remain ; a mea-
sure to which that good woman consented, with
more pain than difficulty, under that vague im-
pression of advantage, which the opportunity of
placing our children in situations above their
sphere so often excites, and so rarely realizes.

Such an addition to the estabUshment of Old-
court, could make no perceptible difference in
point of expense ; and as to the squire, the more
the castle was peopled, the better he was pleased
with it ; and he swore " Pierce Doran was a fine,
manly little fellow, that would box the boys' heads

OLDCOURT. 1/5

about famously by and bye ; for he showed more
spunk than any of them."

Pierce himself, as may be supposed, though
fond of his mother, was not displeased with an
arrangement which left him still the associate of
his favourite Grace, and gave him the additional
advantage of so many play-fellows of his own
sex ; and as his father claimed to belong to the
respectable rank of farmer, the boy w^as so far
admitted upon a footing of equality in the castle,
as to be withdrawn from all association with the
servants, and treated as one of the family.

When Mrs. Oldcourt's anxiety for the educa-
tion of her children, had prompted her to rum-
mage the long neglected library of the castle, and
when^ with the co-operation of Father Clancy,
she had succeeded in extracting from its moul-
dering remains, a little collection of valuable and
useful books, that excellent clerg)^man, who w^as a
distant relative of their mother, w^as induced to
undertake the tuition of her children. An of-
tice, which, contrary to the usual motive that ac-
tuates the ordinary tutor tribe, he assumed the
more readily, because, like most of his duties,
he knew it was to be attended by no other remu-
neration than the pleasure of performing it.
. Another reason, also, equally extraordinary,
influenced the good priest on the occasion ;

176 OLDCOURT.

which was the consideration, that if he did not
interfere, by an endeavour to educate the children,
it w'as more than probable, from the peculiar
carelessness of the squire in such matters, they
would not be educated at all : and so much did
he appear to be gratified in " teaching the young
idea how to shoot," that instead of objecting to
the trouble of an additional pupil in the little
academy of Oldcourt, he highly applauded the
benevolent conduct of the family towards Pierce
Doran, and made no difference w'hatever in his
instruction, between him and his other scholars.

Thus, time passed on for some years at Old-
court Castle ; during the lapse of that period of
life which young people are so glad to get over as
tedious, irksome, and unpleasant, and which old
people too often find they must look back to, as
the only happy portion of their existence.

Grace Oldcourt, the idol of her family, im-
proved every day in beauty of person, and refine-
ment of mind. Under the happy influence of her
mother's virtues, and the zealous superintendence
of Father Clancy's rehgious care and classic taste,
the excellent qualities of her heart, as well as
those of her understanding, were developed to
their full perfection ; and her acquirements in
literature and languages, were far above the female
level of her day.

OLDCOURT. 177

Barry, the eldest brother, had no particular
literary turn ; but he was ambitious of being dis-
tinguished by the manners and principles of a
gentleman ; and he, therefore, anxiously sought
to attain such accomplishments as he conceived
to be essential to that character. Considering
that circumstances did not greatly favour him,
his success was extraordinary.

Garret, the second son, was inferior to his
brothers, both in person and mind. He was
dogged and dull, ungovernable and ungracious ;
he preferred the stable to the study ; delighted in
mischief and mean company, and never was happy
or easy, but when engaged in the sports of the
field, or buried deep in the erudition of horse
dealing, amongst jockies and grooms.

The youngest son, Philip, was the smallest in
stature, but the most full-grown in understanding
of the three. He was full of taste and talent,
accompanied by a great deal of levity, and very
little application. There was a quaint humour
about him, which made him pass for a wit in the
family ; and he was called " the counsellor"
amongst his companions, because he was always
fond of laying down the law in their games, and
never easily assented to any proposition that
would admit of dispute.

His industry, however, increased as he ad-
i2

178 OLDCOURT.

ranced in years, and at the close of their aca-
demic course. Father Clancy acknowledged, that
he was his most assiduous student, and his best
scholar.

Pierce Doran manifested good natural faculties,
and as he was more undeviating in his attention
to his instructor, so he was more regularly pro-
gressive in his improvement. One of his school-
fellows, however, greatly disturbed his studies.
Grace Oldcourt occupied his imagination too
much for the health of his memory. The pur-
suits in which she was associated with him, were
those in which he ever took the most delight,
and made the least progress ; for a book was a
bore in her company, and in looking at her, he
always forgot his lessons.

From their first acquaintance, in the cradle
and the cottage, she was the great object of all
his thoughts and attentions. As a child, he was
her protector, as well as her playfellow ; and in
his most sportive and frolicksome humours, he
seemed to consider it as much his business, as it
was his pleasure, to amuse her.

As he grew up in the family of the castle, the
same feelings characterized him, the same ardent
devotion to the wants and wishes of his favourite.
No out-door sports or boyish occupations could
seduce him from her side, v,henever she desired

OLDCOURT. 179

his presence, or he thought his co-operatiou
might contribute to forward any of her mirthful
projects.

The sweet disposition and engaging vivacity of
Grace Oldcourt, made her so much an object of
affectionate attention to all her brothers, that
Pierce Doran's assiduity in her service, was, in
consequence, the less particular ; and whenever
it became a subject of remark, it was considered
bj Mrs. Oldcourt, Miss Matty Malone, and the
other members of the establishment, only as
affording a grateful instance of that devoted at-
tachment which the peculiar relation of fosterer,
in Ireland, at once authorizes and exemplifies.

Grace herself, accustomed as she had been
from her birth, to such manifestations of Doran's
regard, received his assiduities without surprise,
and was the less likely to see in them any thing
extraordinary, as she considered him the brother
of her cradle, and treated hhn with almost as
much confidence and kindness, as if he were the
brother of her blood.*

Frank, open-hearted, and famihar, she had no
reserve about her to Doran ; for it never entered
her head, that reserve could be necessary where

* ♦< Foster! ntr," says Sir John Ddvls, '< is consid«-red iu
Ibe opinion of the Irish, a stron2:er alliance than bloud."

180 OLDCOURT.

regard might be unbounded, and was always con-
sidered as pure.

But the period had now arrived when a boyish
attachment must either subside to indifference, or
be converted into a sentiment of much more
passionate character. Hitherto, Pierce Doran had
looked upon the Castle of Oldcourt as a kind of
Elysium, in which he found every gratification of
which he had formed any idea, or for which he
entertained the least desire.

He studied, he played, he walked, he rode with
Grace Oldcourt every day, and sometimes all the
day ; and how long such fehcity was to last, or
what it might lead to, were speculations which, if
ever they occurred to his imagination at all, cer-
tainly did not oppress it with any cloudy forecast
of thought.

By degrees, however, his happiness began to
assume a somewhat less calm and serene cha-
racter. Though >dl surrounding circumstances
seemed to be unchanged, he could not buS per-
ceive that there was some alteration in himself.
He became restless and uneasy, without being
aware of any definite cause, which could reason-
ably make him so. In the presence of Grace,
he found himself anxious and apprehensive ; in
her absence, irritable and melancholy.

He was now generally dissatisfied with himself ;

OLDCOURT. 181

and diffident and distrustful of all his proceedings,
where she was concerned. He was disposed,
also, to be discontented with those marks of her
confidence and regard, which heretofore exceeded
the full measure of his expectations ; and he every
day felt more and more carious to investigate
their nature, and ascertain if they did not dis-
close a feehng somewhat different from that which
influenced her, in those manifestations of at-
tachment, which she used towards her brothers.

In this state, matters remained for some time
after the incident which occurred at the Kilboyne
hunt. But the rumours of Grace Oldcourt's
beauty, which the glowing representations of its
members, had spread through the county, were
soon followed by their usual effects. Admirers
were warmed into suitors, and such approaches
were made to the castle, as indicated designs tu
carry off the treasure which it contained, by a
regular assault of love, and a coup de main of
matrimony.

The first serious attack of this sort operated
on Pierce Doran, like a mine sprung under his
feet. His eyes w^ere now at once opened to the
true nature of his feehngs, if he were not before
sufficiently clear-sighted on the subject. The
w^orld seemed about to be blown up around him —
he appeared to wake from a delicious dream ; and

182 OLDCOURT.

the future, as if to avenge the Httle prospective
attention he had hitherto besto\ved upon it, now
rushed upon his startled fancy, in a crowd of fear-
ful anticipations, from which he recoiled with
horror.

He w^as now but too w^ell aware, that neither
the relation of foster-brother, nor that of any
other brother, was the one in which he wished
to stand towards Grace Oldcourt ; and he v^as
shocked and alarmed when he was obliged to
confess to himself the discovery, and found that
he had been not only w-illing, but anxious to be
deluded on this subject.

The ingenuitv of self-deception which masks our
feehngs to ourselves, and leaves the visor on as long
as possible, from the fear that we should not like the
aspect its removal would present to us, had lulled
poor Doran into a state of half-apprehensive se-
curity, in which he would not allow himself to
think, lest his reason should rouse his resolution,
and force his integrity to disturb a state of en-
joyment which, however dangerous to his future
repose, no present evil appeared to render culpable.

Doran's general principles would have done
credit to any station in life ; and though, in-
fluenced by the common frailty of our nature, he
had not the firmness to withstand the insidious
approaches of a passion, which the wise and power-

OLDCOURT. 183

ml of all ages have attempted in vain to resist,
yet, he was incapable of concerted misconduct,
or premeditated wrong.

Besides the attachment which never fails to
sway, with a sort of reUgious force, the hearts of
those who, in Ireland, are connected with a great
familv, by ties similar to that which bound Pierce
Doran to the house of Oldcourt, he was im-
pressed, also, by the deepest feelings of gratitude
for the favour, and even paternal kindness he had
experienced from them : a sentiment which
Father Clancy early cultivated and established
in his breast.

Though placed upon a footing of such un-
reserved familiarity with the young Oldcourts,
lie never was seduced to forget his situation for a
moment, or depart from that respectful demeanour,
which a proper sense of it should lead him, with-
o\}t servility, to observe. In his eyes, they were ail
beings of a superior order ; and when the veil
was so completely removed, that he could no
longer conceal from himself the fact of his being
desperately in love with the all admired, only
daughter of his patron and protector — the head of
the ancient house of Oldcourt, he was not so much
confounded at his folly, as he was ashamed of
his px^esuraption.

To worship her as an angel, in distant homage.

184 OLDCOURT.

was a privilege which belonged to his station ;
but to love her as a woman, and indulge, even for
a moment, the thought of exciting in her breast a
reciprocal sentiment, was villainy, ingratitude,
and madness.

Hitherto, he had never been able to discover
any peculiarity of emotion in Grace Oldcourt's
manner to him, which indicated more than a
modification of that kindness, which she felt
towards her brothers, and manifested, in different
and appropriate degrees, to all who approached
her. She was easy, familiar, and even affectionate
with her old play- fellow; and, in every respect,
seemed to confide in him, as in a person from
whom she, of right, and of course, expected re-
gard, attention, and protection. But she was too
much at her ease — too unembarrassed and un-
reserved in her deportment with him, to warrant
the presumption that any warmer sentiment thaii
friendship was concerned in it.

In a state of perplexity, arising from these agi-
tating considerations, poor Doran saw time pass
on at the castle, without being able to form any
reasonable hope, or to fix upon any decisive line
of conduct. His general impression was, that
he ought to fly from a scene of danger, to the
consequences of which he was now so fullv sen-
sible. But where could he fly ?

OLDCOURT. 186

Unfitted as he was, by his education, to assist
in the laborious pursuits of his father, to return
to him as a burthen was quite out of the ques-
tion. He was entirely dependent on the family
into which he seemed to have been adopted ;
and the squire considered him so useful, and
appeared to depend so much on his services,
in various ways, that to leave the castle, without
assigning a sufficient and satisfactory cause, would
be justly regarded as no common instance of in-
gratitude.

The squire had often held out vague hopes of
advancing him in life, and talked of making him
his agent, in place of the person who filled that
office ; a functionary with whom Mr. Oldcourt
was very much dissatisfied, for not having dis-
covered a mine upon his estate, or fitted the
amount of his income more exactly to his ex-
penditure.

But year after year passed on, in languid ex-
pectation and dilatory indifference ; there seemed
to be no more reason for hurry to-day than yes-
terday, and to-morrow would always be time
enough for exertion. Thus it was that " the thief
of time," who never pursued his chronological
pilferings with more success than in the house of
Oldcourt, was always ready to retard the interests,
and disconcert the measures of its members.

186 OLDCOURT.

There seemed, indeed, to be no feasible means
of escape for poor Doran ; and, to do him jus-
tice, he never appeared less disposed to be obsti-
nate, than in his resistance to that conviction.
If his firmness were too easily vanquished, how-
ever, in reasoning this matter with his feelings,
he was not altogether without excuse ; a ride or
a walk with his mistress — a look — a smile of gra-
cious regard, would interfere and reinforce the
argument in favour of remaining in the castle,
with a strength that no lover's logic could be
expected successfully to oppose.

Tn a feverish alternation of delight and des-
pondency, without hope in remaining, or reso-
lution to depart, he continued, through a sort
of delusive necessity, to await the course of
events ; alarmed at the approach, and rejoicing
at the rejection, of every new suitor, as if he
himself were personally interested in the result :
while every day added strength to the passion
that consumed him, by the experience of some
new fascination in its object, which rendered the
struggle to conceal his feelings still more difficult
than before. In the hourly observance of a
beauty and amiability, which no heart " made of
penetrable stuff" could be expected to resist ;
and treated with such a sweet and cordial kind-
ness, as, no doubt, vanity would have hoped to

OLDCOTJRT. 187

convert, if it did not actually construe, into love,
the task of cooling down the fervour of his admi-
ration to such a temperature of regard, as might
do j istice to his devotion, without alarming her
delicacy, or discovering his secret, required a
degree of vigilance, circumspection, and virtue,
which few young men, in such circumstances,
would have been found to display.

But the struggle was too much for his strength,
either of body or mind. His spirits became
dejected, and his health impaired : constant
restraint, and frequent agitation produced a
state of nervous excitement, which sharpened
every emotion to agony or rapture. The
former feehng, indeed, was too generally pre-
valent in his mind, not to tinge his temper ;
and the family observed the melancholy which
appeared to prey upon him. They ascribed it,
however, to a growing sense of his dependent
situation, and uncertain prospects ; and he rather
favoured that impression, as a means of diverting
conjecture from the real cause.

Frequently, when, struck by the alteration in
his manner and appearance, Grace Oldcourt,
like a pitying angel, would express her concern
for his health, and her interest in his welfare,
overcome by such celestial sympathy, he has
been obliged to rush from the room, to conceal

1 88 OLDCOURT.

the tumult of his feehngs, and prevent his
throwing himself at her feet, in a full confession
of his love.

A state of anxiety and embarrassment like this,
poor Pierce Doran thought quite sufficient for
mortal endurance ; but the presence of Sir
Walter D'Arcy at the castle, soon taught him
how severely its miseries might be aggravated, by
an accession of suffering, in which the tortures
of jealousy sharpened all the pangs of hopeless
love.

OLDCOURT, 189

CHAPTER XTI.

It will be recollected, that after the breaking
up of the party at Oldcourt Castle, the prin-
cipal personages of whom it was composed, w^ere
conducted, with all due attention, to their several
apartments ; where their slumbers were not a
little disturbed by the reflections that naturally
resulted from the different occurrences of the
day.

But as the drow^sy god is seldom so disposed
to favour us, as just at the moment, when we ought
to break from his seductions, so, on this occa-
sion, having in the morning made his usual
atonement to the sufferers of the night, the
family did not assemble at the breakfast-table
quite so early as usual.

Sir Walter D'Arcy, indeed, always a late
riser, was so much under the influence of Somnus
as to have entirelv overslept himself; and Mrs.

190 OLDCOURT.

Oldcourt, in her medical capacity, would, on
no account, suffer him to be disturbed : as she
judiciously observed, that " after all, sleep was
the best restorative;" an opinion, in which I
would undertake to support that good lady, against
the whole College of Physicians.

Pierce Doran was, as usual with him, the
first who appeared in the breakfast -room, and
Grace Oldcourt, as was very unusual with her,
the last. The former, wearing on his countenance
the traces of a disturbed night ; the latter, also,
indicating, by a slight predominance of the lily over
the rose, in her complexion, that her slumbers
had been somewhat less refreshing than she ordi-
narily found them.

Miss Oldcourt was always particularly atten-
tive to her morning costume; a point of propriety
and good breeding, which well-educated women,
in all civilized countries, are careful to observe,
and, for a commendable observance of which,
English women may be said to be pre-eminently
distinguished.

Even in the unceremonious privacy of her
domestic circle, Grace never allowed herself, by
any negligence of dress, to violate the lienseance
of the breakfast-table, or show, that she had less
respect for her family than for her friends.

On this morning, she was dressed with her usual

OLDCOURT. 191

taste and simplicity ; but, though her appearance
indicated no particular solicitude for personal
decoration, Pierce Doran suspected that she had
consulted her toilette with more than ordinary
care and skill. An impression from which, for
reasons which lovers will readily conjecture, he
appeared to derive no satisfaction.

The squire, like most gentlemen who are very
convivial at night, was always very dull in the
morning. His stomach was queasy, his tongue
parched, and he had no appetite. Mrs. Oldcourt
had already consulted Buchan as to the best
remedies for heart-burn, acidity, and the thousand
other ills the hon vivant is heir to, and she was
anxious to bring the whole materia medica to
his assistance.

But the squire was one of her most refractory
patients : he had his own specific, w^hich as it
possessed the double property of relieving his
complaint, and at the same time, tickUng his
palate with some slight relish of the pleasures by
which that complaint w^as contracted, he in-
variably resorted to — a little brandy in his tea.

The good lady of the mansion appeared in her
accustomed good humour, and in more than her
accustomed good spirits. Miss Matty Malone, and
the young Oldcourts, were pretty much comme a
I'ordinaire.

192 OLDCOURT.

The conversation, as may be supposed, turned
very much on the personal quaUties and agree-
able manners of their guest. Sir Walter D'Arcy ;
and much discriminative commendation was
bestowed upon him, though it was worthy of
remark, that neither Grace Oldcourt, nor Pierce
Doran were forward in his praise

Mrs. Oldcourt energetically declared, he was
a remarkably handsome man, and the finest gen-
tleman she had ever been acquainted with.

" Thank you, my dear Nelly," jocularly ob-
served Mr. Oldcourt, who in his youth considered
himself as having some claim to the character
of a fine gentleman, at least in the country.

" Oh ! mydear Mr. Oldcourt/' said his lady, with
an affectionate glow on her cheek ; " you know,
the present company — the old saying — besides,
I gave you a good proof of what I thought of
your pretensions. But amongst the present race,
you will allow. Sir Walter is quite a star."

" He seems a smart young fellow, I grant you,"
repHed the squire ; " and more liberal in his sen-
timents than one would expect, considering the
apostasy of, his father."

" Ah ! my dear Mr. Oldcourt,*' rephed his
wife, with a pathetic shake of the head, and a re-
ference in her mind to her own father's case ;
'* it is not every man who wishes to preserve his

OLDCOURT. 193

property to his family, in times of rapine and
oppression, that can be said to forsake his faith,
though he may seem to change his rehgion."

" That is very true, my dear Xelly," said the
squire, recollecting how the allusion applied, and
good-naturedly wishing to remove its sting; " but,
at any rate, I must crack a bottle with the baro-
net, before I can give my opinion of him."

" For my part," interrupted Miss Matty
Malone, " I like him, because, although he is
such a good-looking young man, he is not occu-
pied with himself, but knows how to behave in
women's company ; polite to all, without neg-
lecting any one : not hke our awkward, booby
squires, who can think or talk of nothing but their
horses and dogs, and are, indeed, fit only for
such company."

As !Miss ]\Iatty was rather antiquated, and
somewhat more formal than fair, she rarely
attracted much notice, or even civility, from the
young men who frequented the castle ; she was,
therefore, quite flattered, by some polite atten-
tions from the baronet.

" Yes, Miss Matty," observed Barry Oldcourt,
" you may justly say he is a very diiferent person
from our steeple-hunting heroes and country
bumpkins."

" Come, come. Master Barry," observed his

VOL. III. K

194

OLDCOURT.

father, half seriously, " you forget whom that
shot hits ; I have hunted a steeple before now,
my young gentleman ! and could make my bow
not the worse in a ball-room. Eh I my dear
Nelly I don't you think so ?" turning to Mrs.
Oldcourt, with a complacent security that he
should find a ready evidence in his favour, — a
confidence, which an assenting nod and smile
from that good lady immediately justified ; while
he added, — '* I have known many hearty good
fellows amongst steeple hunters, I assure you."

" But, sir, the race has very much degene-
rated since your time," replied Barry ; " and if
yo2i indulged in such pursuits, they were only
your amusements. You did not consider them
your business, nor make them your boast."

Now, this civil speech on the part of the son,
was the gratuitous result of a dutiful desire to set
himself right with his father, and take off the
edge of his former indiscreet observation, which
he could not but perceive to have touched a little
unpleasantly on the paternal epidermis.

The fact is, that few of the squirearchy of his
day were more devoted to such exploits than
Mr. Oldcourt, or more proud of them, even long
after their performance became to him physically
impossible. Yet, such is our disposition to be
pleased with a compliment, even when w^e are

OLDCOURT. 195

conscious we do not deserve it, that the old
gentleman, with an evident chuckle of satisfac-
tion, said : —

" Why, that is very true, my dear Barry !
but, by Jupiter ! the gentlemen of my day had
little other business than their amusements. I
flatter myself, however, I was not behind-hand
with my contemporaries, in any field of compe-
tition."

" The baronet," rejoined Barry, " belongs to a
difterent age ; nova progenies, as Ovid says.
He is neither coarse in his familiarity, nor bois-
terous in his mirth. Though his manners are
gentle and polished, they are not coxcombical ;
and there is an unreserved openness about him,
that particularly becomes the character of a
soldier.'*

" Come, Grace, now it is your turn ;" cried
the youngest son, Philip, laughing. " Have you
nothing to say of this paragon ? No little pur-
ling rill of praise, to swell this full tide of pane-

g)Tic r

" No, Phil.," said Grace, blushing deeply ; " I
leave Sir Walter D'Arcy in your hands ; and as
you know you are the counsellor of the family,
you may probably find a flaw in his character."

" From that blush, Grace," laughingly replied
her brother, " I suspect you think that would

196

OLDCOL'RT.

be a ditficult matter. But, Pierce, I dare say,
will assist me," turning to him ; " he has not
yet given tongue in the full cry of commendation."

" My verdict," said Pierce, with a tremulous
motion of the upper lip, "is of little value ; but
it is never given on insufficient evidence."

The blood, which before only blushed beauti-
fully in her cheek, on her brother's second re-
mark, diffused itself in deeper carnation over
Grace's whole face.

" My dear Phil.," said his mother, " you should
not embarrass your sister. Grace knows, and so
ought you to know, that it is not proper for young
ladies to be forw^ard in giving their opinions of
young gentlemen."

" Very true, my dear mother," rejoined the
counsellor ; " and as a blush is the best evidence
in this case, we will close the inquiry."

" I declare, Philip," said Miss Matty Malone,
turning down her tea- cup, which it was then the
fashion to do, " you are quite provoking ; and
I wonder Grace has patience with you."

"My dear madam," rephed Phil., " how can
you be surprised? Besides all other virtues,
you know that Grace has patience for every bcdy ;
and so you and I come in for our share, now and
then."

This rejoinder, covering a sly allusion to some

OLDCOURT. 197

rather tiresome prosings, by which Miss Matty
was wont occasionally to exercise the patience of
her friends, produced a general laugh ; in which,
however, that ancient maiden neither joined, nor
seemed to take any pleasure ; being, at the
moment, wholly occupied in administering a large
pinch of snufFto the appropriate organ.

Mrs. Oldcourt now declared, " that as no ill
consequence had ensued, she was not sorry the
accident had occurred, since it was the means of
procuring them such a pleasant acquaintance ;
indeed, she hoped, one of these days, to be able to
say, friend. And Barry," said she, addressing
her eldest son, " as he has been so much abroad,
he may give you some information about the
Austrian service. Besides a large fortune, they
say he has great influence; and who knows,
Pierce," turning to that young man, " but
through his means, something may be done for
your interest."

" My dear madam," replied Doran, with a sad
and serious air, " I must be always grateful for
your kindness ; but I should be sorry to receive
any favour at the hands of Sir Walter D'Arcy.
My own exertions will, I trust, render any inter-
ference on his part unnecessary."

The peculiar feeling with which this was spoken
appeared to excite some surprise. Grace and her

198 OLDCOURT.

brothers looked at each other, and the old squire,
raising his eyes from the County Chronicle,
which he had been reading, observed : —

" Why ! what favour does Pierce Doran want
from Sir Walter D'Arcy or any body else ? Is
not he well enough off here ? I am sure if he was
not here I should not be well off; for he is of
more use to me than any of you."

'• My dear sir," cried Pierce, with great warmth
of feeling ; " the thought that you attached some
little value to my poor services, has long been
my only comfort under the weight of my obliga-
tions ; but," added he, the tear trembling in his
eye, " it is full time that I should cease to be a
burthen on my generous benefactors."

" Oh! Pierce," exclaimed Grace, laying her
hand affectionately on his arm, as he sat next to
her, and looking at him with the most anxious
and amiable expression of interest, " have we
deserved this ? Are you not one of the family ?
Have we not always looked upon you as a brother,
and a kind brother ? And as such 1 shall ever
regard you."

Poor Doran was little gratified by this last as-
surance of attachment, on the part of Grace Old-
court. His emotion was so great that he could
not venture to touch her hand, or utter a word.

" My dear Grace," said Mrs. Oldcourt,

OLDCOURT. 199

" Pierce Doran must be well aware how we all
regard him, and how much we should regret to
lose him ; but we must not be so selfish as to
suffer him to sacrifice himself to us ; and it is
quite natural that a young man should wish to
see the world."

" 1 am sure if he does not," exclaimed Barry
Oldcourt, " / do. This idle life is dreadful."

During Mrs. Oldcourt's last observation,
Pierce Doran's agitation appeared to increase.
He was evidently surprised, and looked upon the
latter part of her remark, as a hint not to be mis-
understood.

Grace seemed little less affected than himself ;
she coloured deeply, and for the first time in her
life, thought her mother was unkind.

With an evident effort at calmness, Doran rose
from his seat, and said : —

" I fear it is not natural for me to wish to quit
this revered roof, under which I have spent so
many happy days ; but, I assure you, Mrs. Old-
court, I have Ions: been convinced that such a
step is proper, though I have not had resolution
enough to adopt it. Your approval of it, how-
ever, renders it not only proper, but necessary."

The last sentence was spoken in a voice that
showed he was almost overcome by his feelings.
It was followed by a general exclamation of all

200 OLDCOURT.

the parties, in an eager assurance that he had
quite mistaken Mrs. Oldcourt ; and that good
lady's kindness of heart made her join anxiously
in the assertion ; though, it must be confessed,
her meaning justified Pierce Doran's interpre-
tation of her words.

The scene was becoming painfully interesting ;
and the squire was sufficiently aroused, by the
general energy, from a studious slumber over the
County Chronicle, to ask, — " What is all this
nonsense about?" — when the entrance of Sir
Walter D'Arcy prevented a continuance of the
subject, and produced immediately an apparent
calm. Pierce Doran took an opportunity of
leaving the room on the baronet's appearance,
and received such a look of kindness from Grace
at his departure, as would have made him the
happiest man in the world, if he could have for-
gotten that it was avowedly bestowed upon him
in his fraternal character.

Sir Walter gracefully apologised for making his ap-
pearance so late in the breakfast-room ; and in an-
swer to Mrs. Oldcourt's medical inquiries, declared
himself quite well ; a report which that good lady,
after having insisted on feeling his pulse, con-
firmed, pronouncing, with an air of medical erudi-
tion, w^hich would have excited the envy of Mr.
Phelim M'Cabe, that " there was no acceleration

OLDCOURT. 201

of the arterial action/' and that " all febrile
symptoms had disappeared."

A fresh breakfast was ordered for the baronet,
at which Grace presided with a '* sweet obliging-
ness/' as Sir Charles Grandison would express
it. She displayed, indeed, on the occasion, that
sensitive propriety of conduct, which hits the
happy medium between the pert and prattUng
familiarity, that leads you to expect a box on the
sar, if you should happen to give offence ; and the
cold, ungracious, repulsive reserve, which, amongst
the higher as well as the lower classes of females,
always denotes an insensible, ill-conditioned,, and
under-bred character.

The baronet's admiration was undisguised ;
and he exerted all his powers of gallantry, to
render himself agreeable, and produce a corres-
ponding sentiment in his favour.

He blessed the happy accident that had pro-
cured for him an introduction to such an inter-
esting family, — expressed in all the forms of elo-
quent acknowledgment, his gratitude for the
hospitality and kindness with which he had been
treated, — most impressively solicited the privilege
of cultivating an intercourse from which he
should derive so much honour and happiness,
and warmly invited the young men to visit him
at his quarters in Galway.
K 2

202 OLDCOURT.

D'Arcy's overtures, as may be supposed, from
the hospitable character of the squire, the san-
guine speculations of Mrs. Oldcourt, and the
satisfaction of the sons at the prospect of such an
agreeable acquaintance, were met with the most
encouraging cordiahty.

For Grace I say nothing, because she said
nothing for herself; but she blushed such a beau-
tiful acquiescence in the family sentiment, as out-
weighed, in the baronet's estimation, the combined
eloquence of the rest of the establishment.

After a lengthened conversation, in which our
hero was all anecdote and vivacity, and his hearers
were all attention and admiration, he rose to take
his leave; declaring, that his conscience would not
suffer him to trespass farther on their indulgence ;
but that he would take an early opportunity
to pay his respects at the castle.

This movement, however, was immediately
opposed by a vigorous discharge of remonstrance
from the main body of his hosts. Some shots
also took effect from a reserve of glancers, in the
eyes of Miss Oldcourt : and the baronet's retreat
was finally cut off by the squire, who swore his
horse should be impounded for the dues of hos-
pitality, which he had not yet paid. " We have
seen the birth of our acquaintance, Sir Walter,"
said he, "but we have not yet had the baptism ;

OLDCOUBT. 203

and that is a ceremony quite essential to Christian
communion, in the social creed of Oldcourt."

The baronet, Hke a besieged town, with a dis-
affected garrison, found that all his feelings were
disposed to take part with the assailants ; and
though a soldier, he thought his best course was a
surrender.

The conditions were, that he should spend
another day at the castle ; and the following one
he would be allowed to march out, with all the
honours of hospitality.

Matters being thus arranged, the horses were
ordered for a morning ride ; and Grace, who was
fond of riding, and an excellent horsewoman, as
she had proved, to the satisfaction of the Kilboyne
Hunt, retired to equip herself in her habit ac-
cordingly.

She first, however, proceeded to seek for Pierce
Doran, to tell him of the equestrian party, and ask
him to join it ; — a ceremonial of invitation not
usual from her, his alacrity of attention rendering
it always unnecessary ; but there was a tact of de-
licacy in her character, which, without any well
defined reason for it, made her particularly wish,
on the present occasion, to show her desire for
his company.

Though latterly she had observed a con-

204 OLDCOURT.

siderable change both in his health and spirits,
she was surprised by his evident agitation at
the breakfast -table ; and not being aware of the
motives, which, reasonably enough, influenced
Mrs. Oldcourt's mind, to wish for his removal
froni the castle, she was concerned, and thought
it unkind, that her mother should express her-
self in a manner to suggest a suspicion that she
was favourable to such a measure.

The absence of Pierce Doran, however, who
had left the house immediately after breakfast,
disappointed, for the moment, her amiable soli-
citude on his account.

The riding party, therefore, consisted of Miss
Oldcourt, her brother Barry, and the baronet ;
for Garret was engaged to be present at a cock-
fight ; a sport (as in common with other bar-
barous country practices, it is called,) in which
that young gentleman delighted much ; and
Phil, had received a new publication from Dublin,
which he was anxious to peruse.

The ride was pleasant to the parties, and,
therefore, it was prolonged beyond the usual time.
The conversation was gay and agreeable to those
who were engaged in it ; but as little was
said, which could be considered important to the
progress of this history, it is needless to repeat

OLDCOURT. 205

it. Suffice it to observe, that the baronet re-
turned still more enamoured than when he set
out.

Grace Oldcourt was one of the few, upon
whom Nature had profusely lavished her favours.
Her countenance, though blooming with all the
fascinations of a Hebe, was not more captivating
than her form ; yet she never looked more
beautiful than when, in her riding habit, the
charms of her person were precluded from en-
tering into competition with her face. As she
was conspicuously graceful in all her equestrian
movements, as well as skilful in the manage-
ment of her horse, the impression she had
made upon D'Arcy, the evening before, was
strengthened by her morning appearance ; and his
favourable judgment of her understanding con-
firmed, by the colloquial developement of its
powers, in the course of their long ride.

As they were returning to the castle, Grace ob-
served Pierce Doran in a musing position, leaning
on a stile, which separated the road from a foot-
path in an adjoining wood. She urged her horse
forward, with a view to address him ; but on
the approach of the party, he bowed, jumped
over the stile, and disappeared. Grace and her
brother thought his retreat extraordinary, but
made no observation.

206 OLDCOURT,

When Pierce Doran withdrew from the break-
fast-table in the morning, he rushed out of the
house, to conceal the agitated state of mind,
which was produced in him by what had passed
there. Mrs. Oldcourt's observation he could
look upon in no other light than as a plain inti-
mation, that his longer residence in the castle
would be dispensed with ; and he had been for so
many years in the habit of considering Oldcourt
as his home, that a hint so unexpected, struck
upon his heart, like expulsion from a parental
roof.

When he reflected on the benevolence of Mrs.
Oldcourt's character, and the maternal kindness
with which she had invariably treated him, a
change of sentiment so sudden, appeared to him
unaccountable ; and led him finally to the suspi-
cion, that in spite of all his caution, she had dis-
covered the secret of his attachment, and thought
it prudent to remove him from farther intercourse
with her daughter.

Neither his pride, however, nor his sense of
propriety, would now suffer him to remain ; and he
found that every hour added to his intoxication, in
a passion which, he saw but too plainly, was hope-
less, and the humblest declaration of which, would
lay him under a charge of unparalleled presump-
tion and ingratitude.

OLDCOURT. 207

The question was, therefore, settled in his
mind, as indeed it had often been settled before ;
but the baronet's introduction to the family, and
the consequences which, with a lover's prescience,
he anticipated, gave additional weight to his con-
viction on the subject, and made him more de-
termined than ever, to remove from a scene in
which mortification and misery must await him
if he remained.

Occupied by a succession of such agitating re-
flections, he roamed for some hours through the
ancient woods of Oldcourt — now pondering pro-
jects of active enterprise, to invest his name with
8ome distinction, which might make it sound
with credit in Grace Oldcourt's ear ; and, by a re-
trospective operation, render his presumption in
loving her more excusable— now, execrating the
absurd distinctions of society, which, counteract-
ing the noblest emotions of our nature, raised
Such a barrier between him and the idol of his
admiration, as condemned him to silence, when,
by the open, ardent avowal of his love, he
might possibly have urged it with success —
now, losing himself in a reverie of romantic de-
lusion, in which his fancy pictured his mistress
responding to his passion — receiving him as a
lover, and rewarding him for his long sufferings,
in some terrestrial paradise of rural bliss. Then

208 OLDCOURT.

would he aw ake from his trance, and start forward
in a half-frantic agony of feeling, at the contrast
which the sad reality of his situation presented
to his view.

Hopeless in his love, and about to become an
outcast from the home with which all his ideas of
earthly felicity were associated, and v/hich con-
tained the angelic being to whom his heart had
cleaved, with instinctive and irresistible energy,
even from his cradle, his spirit sunk in an over-
whelming sense of desolation, which, among all
his anxieties, he had never before experienced.

The days of his childhood rushed upon his
recollection, arrayed in the charms of innocent
and unreserved intercourse wdth his blooming
companion — the period of his early youth,
spent with her in a delightful community of
pleasures and pursuits, — till tracing the progress
of his feelings, through all the gradations of
devotion growing into idolatry, amongst the more
tumultuous raptures of his latter years, he at
length became wholly subdued by the retrospect
of joys that never could return — his resolution
failed — he groaned aloud, and melted into
tears.

Relieved and somewhat calmed by this
lachrymal vent to his emotions, he had just
emerged from the road, on his return to the

OLDCOURT. 209

castle, when the riding party approached him.
Doran had taken it for granted, that the ba-
ronet must have left the castle, to return to his
quarters, immediately after breakfast. To see
him, therefore, officiating as an escort to Grace
Oldcourt. was much more a surprise than a
pleasure to poor Doran ; and afraid to trust his
feelings, after the agitation they had undergone,
he determined to retreat into the wood, till
Grace and the party had passed.

Though Doran had eagerly sought the most
retired solitude in the neighbourhood of the
castle, to ruminate, undisturbed, on his unhappy
situation, and devise, if possible, some plan for
his future conduct, the agony of his mind had
rendered all dehberation impracticable. No
specific project had occurred to him ; and a
vague determination to depart from Oldcourt,
and seek his fortune amid the bustle of the
world, was the only result of his morning's me-
ditations.

210 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XIII.

The qualities which distinguished Sir Walter
D'Arcy, have been sufficiently developed in the
course of this authentic record, to satisfy the
reader, that he was weU calculated to succeed in
rendering himself agreeable to the family of Old-
court Castle. His manners were so prepossessing,
and his powers of conversation so versatile, that,
when he pleased, he could be " all things to ail
men."

He had, it is true, learned but little at school,
and still less at the university. As to what is
commonly called erudition, he was not more en-
cumbered with that commodity, than the general
run of students who go to college, merely in
compliance with the prescribed routine of fashion-
able education ; and who have neither a wish to
acquire learning, nor an intention to enter upon
any career in which it can be considered necessary.

OLBCOURT. 211

His deficieDcy in this respect, did not, how-
ever, arise from want of talent, but want of in-
dustry ; not from any natural disrelish to intel-
lectual pursuits, or from any coarse and vulgar
disregard of letters ; it proceeded from the dis-
turbing influence of passions too impetuous for
scholastic restraint, and which neither religious
principle, nor paternal authority, had ever been
employed to control.

After the thoughtless freaks of his boyhood,
however, when the wild irregularities of his early
youth had subsided into the more decorous dis-
sipations of that class of society in which he
moved, he had taken no small pains, and had
many opportunities to educate himself in the
great school of the world ; and as, in most cases
of self-instruction, the process of tuition is as-
sisted by a strong desire to learn, his knowledge
of life and manners, and his proficiency in all
the social graces and accomplishments which
recommend a man in the heau monde, were in
proportion to his talents and his zeal.

He was naturally open, brave, and generous ;
his pride of family, his ambition to sustain the
character of a gentleman, and a high sense of
what the world calls honour, all operated to
rescue him from low associates and vulgar vices.
In every case but one, indeed, they supplied with

212 OLDCOURT.

him the place of rehgious and moral principles ;
and that one was, unfortunately, a case in which
the propensities of our nature, and the practice
of fashionable society, are too often effectually
urged as a palliative and a precedent.

To the circle into which he was now intro-
duced, his reputation as un homme a bonnes for-
tunes, would have been no recommendation ; but as
his exploits in that character were equally unknown
and unsuspected by them, there was no draw-
back upon the favourable impression which his
personal and mental quahties were calculated to
produce.

The second day of the baronet's s^joitr at the
castle, passed off still more agreeably to its inha-
bitants than the first ; for he was the great source
of entertainment, and the sole object of atten-
tion. In proportion as he became more familiar,
he appeared more fascinating ; new topics of
discussion afforded him new opportunities of col-
loquial captivation, in which his knowledge of
the great world furnished materials of unwonted
interest to a rural circle, and enabled him to em-
broider, with anecdote and humour, the home-
spun simplicity of country conversation.

Mrs. Oldcourt had contrived to keep off, for
that day, those chance visitors, whose hospitable
habits disposed them to understand an occasional

OLDCOURT. 213

invitation as a periodical privilege, and drop in
accldentallij , with hebdomadal regularity.

As D'Arcy, though by no means addicted to
excess in wine, was highly convivial in his man-
ners, and as he was, certainly, a very lively sub-
stitute for those dull soakers, who, though they
could drink a great deal, had very little to say for
themselves, the squire was perfectly satisfied, and
thought him very good company.

He was, indeed, pre-eminently skilled in that
happiest of all colloquial arts, — the art of drawing
out the stores of others as well as displaying his
own. However well pleased his auditors were to
listen to him, he never allowed himself to mo-
nopolize the discourse, or to show off as the fiddle
of the company. To the feast of conversation,
he considered that every man was disposed to
furnish his share ; and wdiether it be a refined
treat for a philosophical Apicius, — a trifle of taste,
— a whip syllabub of science, or an Ollapodrida of
polite literature — whether it be calipash fit for a
corporation of square caps — currie peppered to
the palate of an oriental scholar, or sour crou^
calculated for a Dutch conversazione, — every
contributor has a right to complain, if he be not
allow^ed an opportunity to serve up his particular
dish, and ascertain how far it may be relished by
the company.

214 OLDCOURT.

Tn the exercise of the peculiar talent here al-
luded to, the baronet was, on the present occasion,
eminently successful. He pleased all parties, by
leading each in turn, to the favourite topic upon
which he was the best qualified to speak, and
could always find something to say. With Mr.
Oldcourt he discussed the ordinary common
places of country squires ; and by the a-propos
introduction of some anecdotes of hunting in the
Back Settlements, and shooting at a mark by Ame-
rican riflemen, he gave that old gentleman a happy
opportunity of renewing the recollections of his
own exploits, and " fighting all his battles o'er
again." Tn this triumphant recapitulation, the
reader may take it for granted, that the silver trophy
of his pistol prowess, the dollar, mentioned in a
former part of this work, w^as not forgotten.

With his amiable hostess, he entered into all
the mysteries of domestic economy, and Hstened,
with every expression of interest, to the various
details of house-wife cares, and culinary grie-
vances. He took an opportunity of expressing
his acknowledgments to her medical skill, in tak-
ing precautions against the consequences of an
accident, which otherwise might have proved
fatal ; declared that her knowledge of the heal-
ing ^rt must be a blessing to her neighbourhood;
and talked as learnedly of the pharmacopseia of her

OLDCOURT.

215

medicine-chest, which she insisted upon sho\ving
him, as if he had been a travehing mountebank,
or a member of the Apothecaries' Company.

With Miss Matty Malone, he deplored the de-
generacy of the age, the decay of poUteness, and
the coarse neglect which women of intellect ex-
perience from the brainless boobies of the day ;
who stare like so many gawkies, if they hear a
rational remark, and are never at their ease but
when engaged in a noisy dispute upon dogs,
horses, and drinking-bouts, — fairs, fights, and
fowling-pieces.

He assured her, that in the best circles of Lon-
don and Paris, women of a certain age were ex-
clusively the fashion ; as combining a rich ripe-
ness of the understanding, with the mellow^ ma-
turity of their personal attractions. Finally, hewon
her heart by praising the pattern of her flounced
silk neglige, and promising to procure for her
from Dublin, a canister of Lundy Foote's ge-
nuine " stock and fine,'' by the first opportunity.
D'Arcy's knowledge of military affairs, and the
interesting details of a campaign, which his
personal experience enabled him to commu-
nicate, rendered his society particularly agree-
able to Barry Oldcourt, whose ardour to en-
gage in martial adventure, received an additional
impulse from the stories of the "tented field,"

216 OLDCOURT,

with ^vbich he was so eloquently entertained.
The baronet, however, was never the hero of his
own tale. He had too much courage and good
taste to be a boaster ; and some of his auditors
were well disposed to appreciate his merit through
his modesty.

With the second son. Master Garret, the ba-
ronet's tact was a little at fault ; for as that young
gentleman had nothing to say in respectable
company, he very prudently said nothing; there
was, therefore, no chink by which the quality of
his intellectual li^ht could be discovered ; and,
indeed, if D'Arcy could have figged a hunter for
sale, wdth the skill of a horse-dealer, have fought
a main of cocks with the judgment of a knowing
one in that line, and have hedged a bet on a
race-course, hke Chiffney himself, such accom-
plishments would have been of little avail in
calling forth the colloquial powers of Master
Garret Oldcourt ; for his conversationn ever flowed
but amongst his cronies in the stable, or the tap-
room of the "Old Goat."

The counsellor tried hard in his jocularly dis-
putatious way, to draw the baronet into an ar-
gument on the constitution of the Roman Legion,
and the modern practice of keeping up standing
armies ; but D'Arcy turned all his points with
such pleasantry and politeness, that he foiled

OLDCOURT. 217

without offending him, and preserved the loose
play of conversation free from the regular assault
of argument.

Even Pierce Doran shared in his attentions ;
though, from the first moment they met, they
seemed to be influenced by a feeling of mutual
repulsion. D'Arcy addressed several observations
to him, favourable to his friends, the Americans ;
and related a circumstance highly illustrative of
their patriotic enthusiasm, in their contest with
the mother country ; but Doran was not to be
conciliated ; he received his rival's civilities with
a lowering brow, responded by a dry monosyllabic
assent, or a frigid bend of the head, when directly
addressed ; and enclosed himself in a crust of re-
serve, that no politeness on D'Arcy's part could
penetrate or remove.

But to Grace Oldcourt, above the whole party,
were all the baronet's powers of pleasing directed,
w^ith the greatest solicitude, and the most com-
plete success.

She had made an impression on him which he
felt to be somewhat different in its nature, from
any sentiment by w\ich he had been ever before
influenced, in his intercourse with the fair sex.
It was not an impulse to be satisfied in a passing
flirtation, or gratified in the heartless gallantry of
a fashionable intrigue. The attraction of Grace

VOL. III. L

218 OLDCOURT.

Oldcourt was magnetic or magical, and seemed to
draw his whole soul towards her, in an energy of
admiration, which made him painfully anxious to
obtain her good opinion, and, for the first time
in his life, apprehensive of his success.

All his attentions to the rest of the family
were, therefore, influenced by one motive ; to
gain such a character and footing in the house
as, co-operating with his own exertions, might
enable him to excite an interest in the heart
of Miss Oldcourt, which, without any deter-
minate object in view, he found himself irre-
sistibly induced to cultivate.

Few women, even in the most elevated sphere
of fashionable life, where the qualities which dis-
tinguished D'Arcy, by being more common, are
less captivating, could remain long insensible to
his addresses. It was not wonderful, therefore,
that in the secluded circle of a provincial estab-
lishment, where he put forth all his powers with
unrivalled fascination, and unexampled accom-
plishment, Grace should regard him as a superior
being, and as almost of a different species from
the Nimrod race of lovers by whom she had been
hitherto rather hunted than wooed.

Her experience of that graceful tournure of
figure, and polished propriety of manners, which
give such a charm to the intercourse of polite

OLDCOURT. 219

society, was very limited, and derived entirely
from such examples of the lean monde, as occa-
sionally condescend to dazzle the natives at an
assize ball. Barristers, just escaped from their
wigs and gowns, transformed into beaux, and
bringing all their circuit civihties to bear upon
the waives and daughters of conceited tov.n- clerks,
and many-briefed country attorneys. The mem-
bers for the county, looking deep sagacity and
pohtical importance, cold, stiff, and supercilious,
till the approach of an election, when they find
it convenient to unbend in all the blandishments
of a hustings familiarity and canvassing con-
descension.

Theh' ladies too, and their fair daughters,
sweeping graciously through the admiring throng,
and regulating the distribution of their smiles,
in a due gradation of affability and condescen-
sion, from the squirearchal nollesse, with their
haughty, emulative airs, through all the incense
of small gentry assiduities, down to the awkward
adulations of the shopkeeping lourgeoisie.

Such scenes w^ere little calculated to supply
her with genuine examples of fashionable life.
She was rather disgusted there, with the ludicrous
conflict of offensive pretensions. Pride swelling-
into insolence, — meanness shrinking into ser-
vility,— all ranks and degrees eagerly struggling

220 OLDCOURT.

into notice and importance, — presenting a Janus-
like character — smiling most solicitously on those
above them, — scowling most superciliously on
those below. Each offensive and offended by
turns, and somewhat consoled for the pain of their
own wounded consequence, by the pleasure of
inflicting on others a similar mortification : the
whole exhibiting, in all the forms of vulgar
vanity and petty competition, a periodical aggre-
gate of ill-will, ill-humour, and ill-manners.

In short, when her few opportunities of mix-
ing with elegant society are considered, it affords
a strong proof, that genuine politeness is the
result of a happy combination of sensibility, good
sense, and good temper, to find, that under such
disadvantages, she had acquired a delicacy and
grace of manners, that would have adorned a
court.

The same constitution of mind, however,
which displayed itself in a refinement at once so
fascinating and inartificial, led her to look for
kindred qualities in others, and particularly
amongst those, who approached her with pre-
tensions which, in her estimation, only some
degree of congeniality in character could ration-
ally justify. For this species of sympathy, how-
ever, amongst her admirers, she had hitherto
sought in vain.

OLDCOURT. 221

The best specimens of country accomplish-
ment, which her circle afforded, were, indeed, to
be found in her own family.

But the brilliant graces and highly-polished
manners of D'Arcy, the easy elegance of his
address, and the insinuating gentleness of his
assiduities, realised the happiest visions of her
fancy, and presented to her a model of per-
fection, which, she had begun to suspect, be-
longed to the regions of romance, and w^ould
be sought for in vain, among the homely and
defective characters of real life.

Under these impressions, to her so novel in
their nature, and which, though highly agreeable
on the whole, appeared to act upon her lively
spirit, in an uneasy solicitude of hope and fear,
Grace Oldcourt retired to her chamber, at the
close of D'Arcy's second day at the castle. The
insomnie of the preceding night was renewed,
and a still more disturbing train of cogitations
interfered again with the fervour of her devotion,
and for no small portion of the night, deprived
her pillow of its narcotic powers.

That a sentiment was arising in her breast,
which must be of the m.ost serious consequence
to her future peace, she could not conceal from
herself ; and, though it was pretty evident to her,
that the baronet rerarded her with more than

222 OLDCOURT.

equal favour, yet, under all the circumstances
of the case, and as she could not be certain that
his attentions would prove any thing more than
the ordinary homage, which a man of the world
considers himself called upon to pay to the fair
sex, she prudently resolved to resist the first
approaches of an attachment, which, if prema-
turely indulged, might terminate in mortification,
if not in misery.

But, though a discreet young lady may go to
sleep at night, with a fixed determination of this
sort in her head, it is generally found to be very
unfixed in the morning. And should the object
against whose dangerous influence it is directed,
happen to be present, it loses its efficacy entirely
in the course of the day.

It must be confessed, that Grace Oldcourt has
not afforded a satisfactory refutation of this
remark; for, notwithstanding her very judicious
resolve, the first hour's subsequent experience of
the baronet's deserts and devotion, determined
her — to make no determination upon the sub-
ject.

Vows, not to love at all, are generally as ill
observed as vows to love for ever.

On the following morning, the breakfast -table
was attended in due time, by all the party, except
Pierce Doran, who was reported to have gone to

OLDCOURT. 2'23

a neighbouring fair, on some business for Mr.
Oldcourt.

The squire could not recollect for what pur-
pose he had commissioned Doran that morning ;
he said, however, that Pierce was a good, thought-
ful lad, and always knew what he was about.

The baronet, for some reason which he did not
himself particularly define, had speculated a little
on the nature of Pierce Doran's connexion with
the house of Oldcourt, and felt some curiosity on
the subject, which he thought the present oppor-
tunity might enable him to gratify. Addressing
Mr. Oldcourt, therefore, he observed, " that in
the management of his extensive property, it
must be a great advantage to have the unbought
assistance of so active and confidential a relation
of the family, as Mr. Doran appeared to be."

To this palpably fishing observation the squire
replied ; '* That they all had, for a long time, looked
upon Pierce Doran as one of the family ; and,
indeed, he w'ell deserved to be so considered,
though, poor fellow, he had no claim to the blood
of the Oldcourts."

Mrs. Oldcourt, who had her own reasons for
wishing to explain, and thought this a favourable
moment for the purpose, now interposed with a
brief sketch of Pierce Doran's birth, character,
and behaviour ; speaking of him with the greatest

224 OLDCOURT.

kindness, and bestowing upon him every possible
commendation ; placing him, at the same time,
upon such a footing in the family, as she con-
cluded would prevent the possibility of a suspicion,
that he could have the presumption to aspire
beyond his sphere ; and winding up the whole by
observing, that the young man was naturally
anxious to push himself forward in the world,
and they w^ere now most desirous to procure for
him some respectable situation, in which he might
exert his talents for his own advantage.

The baronet thought " such a spirit highly
commendable in the young man; and as far as he
had any interest, he would be most happy to em-
ploy it in his favour."

The old squire, however, who had been rather
surprised at the last chapter of Mrs. Oldcourt's
biographic memoir, now observed : —

" Why, my dear Nelly, I never understood that
Pierce Doran had expressed any dissatisfaction
with his situation. I am sure, I always told him
that, one of these days, I should do something for
him, and perhaps make him my agent at last, if
Quigley did not manage matters better. I am
quite surprised ; and I am sure I don't know what
I should do without him."

Mrs. Oldcourt " thought that although Pierce
Doran might be too delicate to express any desire

OLDCOURT. 225

to leave them, yet it would be cruel, and indeed
selfish, to obstruct his wishes or his interests/'

In this sentiment the baronet warmly con-
curred ; and " he was satisfied Mr. Oldcourt was
the last man in the world who would be actuated
by such motives."

This compliment the squire did not know ex-
actly how to disclaim, without casting some httle
imputation on his own generosity ; he therefore
contented himself with shaking his head, and ob-
serving, " that it was very odd,"

Daring this little discussion, and more parti-
cularly v/hile her mother was giving the baronet
an outline of Doran's history, the spirit and
drift of which surprised much more than they
pleased her, Grace Oldcourt, by some evident
heightenings of the rose in her cheeks, and divers
minutely expressive movements of the upper lip,
gave strong indications of the interest which
warmed her affectionate and generous heart to her
foster-brother, and long faithful companion.

Her emotions were not unobserved by D'Arcy ;
and a suspicion arose in his mind, that they might
possibly have their source in a more tender feel-
ing than the warmth of friendship could supply.
This idea, by seeming to throw a difficulty in his
way, rather increased the ardour of his passion,
and his desire for its success. He rapidly re-
l2

226 OLDCOURTi

viewed in his mind, the conduct which Grace had
observed towards Doran for the last two days ; and
though he could not recall a word or look of hers,
which could be interpreted as an indication, that
she felt any other sentiment towards that young
man, than such as the relation in which she stood
to him, might in Ireland account for, yet he
came to the conclusion that Doran's removal
from the castle would be advisable ; and he very
sincerely resolved to follow up his assurance to
Mrs. Oldcourt, by an exertion to effect that object.

After the disposal of this topic, which had for
a moment checked a little the gaiety of the party,
the morning meal passed off with much pleasan-
try, and increased satisfaction to all who at-
tended it.

The baronet now renewed, in still more ardent
and eloquent terms than he had used the day
before, the expression of his gratitude to the fa-
mily ; and declared that, in his own defence, he
must break away from the fascination of a circle,
which was becoming too powerful for his resolu-
tion. He politely pleaded the conditions of the
capitulation of the previous day, though he would
assert that no prisoner ever quitted his place of
confinement with such reluctance.

The squire wished to enter into a new treaty,
the basis of which he proposed to discuss over

OLDCOURT. 227

another bottle of claret ; but D'Arcy recollected-
that before he returned to his quarters, he had to
make his apologies to Major Ogle, whose guest
he had been at the period of his accident ; and
he was accordingly allowed to take his leave.

Before his departure, however, he took an op-
portunity of soliciting, in the most respectful
manner. Miss Oldcourt's permission to renew, at
an early opportunity, the delight which he ex-
perienced in her society ; a request to which that
young lady assented most graciously; not so much,
however, in any well ascertained form of words,
as by some beautiful mantlings of the blood, in
a cheek which the baronet thought, at the mo-
ment, was the most captivating specimen of Na-
ture's colouring which he had ever beheld.

D'Arcy also prevailed on Barry and Phihp
Oldcourt to ride over with him to Galway, and
spend a day or two at his quarters, as he did not
propose to make any delay with his friend. Major
Ogle.

228 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XIV.

The departure of Sir Walter D'Arcy appeared
to leave a very unusual blank in the society of
Oldcourt Castle. The squire yawned several
times — expressed his fears that his old enemy,
the gout, was flying about him — inquired at
what point the wind blew — and " wished to God
that little Begg, the ganger, or even Denny
Burne, would drop in, at the usual time."

Mrs. Oldcourt appeared not to enter with
quite so much bustle as usual into her household
affairs; she was evidently thoughtful and dis-
traite; and, as if she had been carrying on a train
of reflections, with which every body around her
was as well acquainted as herself, she suddenly
observed, aloud, that " she wondered so fine a
young man had not been married hefore."

" You mean the baronet, I suppose," said
Miss Matty M alone, taking a pinch of snuflP out

OLDCOURT. 229

of her box ; " but fine young men are generally
the last to marry. They are too much in re-
quest,— are often dissipated, — and find it difficult
to choose."

" I'll be sworn. Sir Walter D'Arcy is not a
dissipated man," replied Mrs. Oldcourt, resuming
her reverie, as Grace retired to her room.

*' I hope he is not a dissipated man," said
Grace Oldcourt to herself, as she retreated, " for
his own sake ; and I am sure if he were — but
why do I trouble my head so much about him ? "
humming an air at the same time, to show her
indifference, and springing up the stairs to her
own apartment, with her accustomed vivacity.
But it would not do ; — before she was aware of
her own movement, she found herself eagerly
looking out of her window, that commanded a
turn of the distant road, to try if she could see
the baronet, as he proceeded on his way. Grace,
recollecting herself, hastily shut down the win-
dow, and mechanically approached the glass on
her toilet-table, in which she for a moment con-
templated one of the most angelic examples of
" the human face divine,'' that ever was reflected
yet, —

" From shining mirror, or from limpid stream j"

but she thought she did not look well that morn-
ing, and was less becomingly coiffee than usual.

230 OLDCOURT.

She now took up a book, and after tracing
each line of letters, through a page, perceived
that she was quite unconscious of the sense
which it contained ; having been entirely ab-
sorbed in an agreeable recapitulation of the
baronet's words, on his soliciting permission to
pay his respects to her, at an early opportunity ;
and by a speculation also, as to the precise portion
of time to which theexpression of "an early oppor-
tunity," might be reasonably supposed to refer.

In short, after feeding her bird, administering
a little fresh water to a collection of rival roses
on the mantel-piece, and musing a few moments,
during which she was busily employed in making
a more picturesque arrangement of pins in her
pin -cushion, Grace Oldcourt, for the first time in
her Kfe, thought the castle seemed dull, and all
her accustomed occupations uninteresting.

Her solicitude about Pierce Doran, however,
gave a new turn to her thoughts. She wondered
at his absence, as she would have liked to take
a ride with him ; and longed for an opportunity
of removing from his mind an impression, that
any of the family could willingly contemplate his
leaving a scene, which they all wished him to
look upon as his home.

She could not, however, but consider her
mother's observations as extraordinary; and the

OLDCOURT. 231

sudden desire she expressed to obtain for him a
situation, appeared unaccountable to her, except
on the supposition, that for some reason, which
Grace could not conjecture, Mrs. Oldcourt really
wished to remove Doran from the castle.

Occupied by these reflections, the baronet
constantly recurring, in spite of all her efforts to
the contrary, as the preponderating subject of
her cogitations, Grace passed some hours in her
room, when the tedium of the day was
broken in upon, if not relieved, by a morning
visit from the wddow Burton, and the accom-
plished young grazier, her son.

Although Mrs. Burton's hopes of forming a
matrimonial alliance with the house of Oldcourt,
had been considerably diminished, since her last
visit to the castle, yet, as a prudent and affec-
tionate parent, being very reluctant to give up
the prospect of such a match for her son, while
there appeared to be even a single chance for it
upon the cards, she determined on bringing
matters to an issue, by an immediate and direct
proposal.

As all pecuniary advantages were incontestibly
on the side of Mr. Bob Burton, she conceived,
that " a good offer" from him, before Sir Walter
D'Arcy's admiration should prompt him to as-

232 OLDCOURT.

sume the character of a regular suitor, might
operate on the prudence of the Oldcourts ; and
induce them, according to estabhshed proverbial
policy, to prefer a certain advantage, to one in
prospect, which, however flattering, appeared to
hang upon a contingency, too precarious to
have much influence in a rational calculation of
human affairs.

With some difficulty, the young grazier was
prevailed upon to acquiesce in this reasoning, and
adopt the line of conduct which resulted from it.
His ideas of his own consequence had received a
shock from the coldness of Grace Oldcourt, for
which he was by no means prepared ; and as in
dispositions where vanity is paramount, all other
passions lose their vigour, his love was superseded
by his mortification. Having been, however, con-
vinced by his mother, that maidenly reserve w^as
quite sufficient to account for the coldness of
which he complained, he determined, as he said,
"to pop the question at once, and give Miss
Oldcourt another chance for a good husband."

That all external circumstances might corres-
pond with her son's importance, and reinforce
his pretensions, — a new and handsome post-cha-
riot, just built according to Mr. Bob Burton's
own taste, with his cypher and crest upon the

OLDCOURT. 233

pannels, was to be used for the first time upon
this occasion. A smart postilion, in scarlet and
silver, with a black velvet cap, and large silver
tassel — the heraldic honours of the Burtons, em-
blazoned like a fireman's badge upon his arm —
aind an outrider well mounted, in a jacket of
the family livery, completed the equipage ; from
which, after rattling at a rapid pace up the fore-
court of the castle, descended with great dignity,
the widow Burton, and her accomplished son.

The young gentleman was, in his own estima-
tion, and, according to the fashion of his time,
equipped for conquest ; he sported a new pair of
buckskins, and yellow topped boots, fitted to
his shape with a nicety of muscular adaptation,
to the unwrinkled adhesiveness of which, no
tight-braced beau of the present century has ever
been so fortunate as to attain. His hair, pow-
dered, pomatumed, and frizzed, to an enormous
display of four stiff-pinned curls on each side of
his head, was tied behind in a length of queue,
which descended to his waist, enclosing within it
a piece of lead about the size and shape of an
ordinary carrot, to give it a more steady depend-
ance, as well as a more graceful swing from
shoulder to shoulder ; his chin rested upon a
large cauliflower cravat, beneath which he dis-
played a breast of muslin, which would have

234 OLDCOURT.

supplied an ordinary milliner's shop with frills
and flounces.

A small cocked hat, and a swallow-tail coat,
which in front gave no indication of a skirt, with
a smart rattan in his hand, completed the cos-
tume of Mr. Bob Burton, upon this important
visit to his mistress. Such, indeed, was the
ordinary style of dress which distinguished even a
country beau, at that period of all that was pre-
posterous, grostesque, and ungraceful.

Mrs. Oldcourt received her visitors with her
usual kindness and cordiality ; but a nice observer
(and mothers are always nice observers on such
occasions,) would have seen, that there was no
interchange between the ladies, of those looks of
mutual intelligence through which, when in-
fluenced by a community of interests, they so
well know how to telegraph their wishes, their
hopes, and their intentions.

The widow Burton was not slow in observing
this little alteration in Mrs. Oldcourt's manner,
and augured unfavourably from it. Not perceiv-
ing, also, the usual promptitude in summoning
Grace to the drawing-room, she considered that
as a symptom still more intelligibly unpropitious.
As she was determined, however, to fulfil at all
events the intention of her visit, after a few
general observations, she said, —

OLDCOURT. 235

" May we not hope for the pleasure of seeing
Miss Oldcourt this morning ?"

"Oh! certainly/' answered Mrs. Oldcourt; at
the same time requesting that Miss Matty Malone
would apprise her daughter, that her presence
was required ; adding, with a smile to Mrs. Bur-
ton, " that Grace was so fond of occupying her-
self in her own room, with one little thing or
another, that she was sure she would willingly
remain there the whole day.''

Mr. Bob Burton here interposed, and in a
very dignified manner, requested that !Miss Old-
court might not be disturbed from her pursuits
on his account."

The presence of that young lad}^ however,
who just then entered the room, and paid her
respects to her friends, with her accustomed
grace and sweetness, converted Mr. Bob Burton's
hauteur into homage, and made his mother sigh,
at the reflection, that there was so little hope of
obtaining such a treasure for her son.

As Miss Matty ^lalone, conceiving she might
be de trop on such an occasion, did not return,
Mrs. Burton, in mezzo voce to her friend, re-
quested to say a few words to her in the pleasure-
ground, to which a glass-door of the room
opened. By this management, the young people
were left to a tete-a-tete, and the lover had a

236 OLDCOURT.

convenient opportunity of declaring his passion
in the house, while his mother negociated for
him in the garden.

Mr. Bob Burton, however, found himself
rather more awkward than usual ; he coughed
two or three times, and drew out his handker-
chief— got up from his chair, and walked to the
window — observed that there was a beautiful
verdure on the trees, and tbat, as yet, the summer
bid fair for a fine harvest ; to which novel and
ingenious remarks, Grace Oldcourt accorded the
most amiable and unqualified assent.

A pause now ensued, during \vhich, Mr. Bob
Burton tapped his boot slightly with his rattan ;
and having, at length, summoned all his elo-
quence to his aid, he rather hesitatingly observed,
that '' he was sure Miss Oldcourt could not be a
stranger to the admiration with which she had
inspired him ; an admiration, of which he was
now^ about to give her the most decisive proof in
his power, by soliciting permission to offer her his
hand and fortune. He trusted he might, with-
out presumption, say, that from his situation
and circumstances, he had some small claims
to her notice, and he hoped, he need not assure
her, that his views were of the purest and most
disinterested nature."

To this long, studied harangue, the fair object

OLDCOURT. 237

to whom it was addressed, replied, with a blushing
amiability of demeanour, which tempered dis-
appointment by the graciousness of regret, and
ought to have deprived refusal of offence, " That
she was highly sensible of the honour intended
her by jNlr. Burton, and grateful for so flattering
a proof of his esteem. Her sense of duty,
however, would not allow her to trifle for a
moment with the feelings of an honourable
man ; and, as it was quite impossible for her
to make an adequate return to the disinterested
attachment which he professed, she trusted he
would not consider her as manifesting any dis-
respect to the clai-ms of a neighbour and a
friend, if she declined to regard him in any
other character/'

To this polite intimation of her feelings, which,
though he had every reason to expect, he could
not receive, without evident displeasure and cha-
grin, Mr. Bob Burton, in an offended tone,
replied, —

" Then you mean to say, Miss Oldcourt, that,
without farther ceremony or consideration, you
reject the offer of my hand and fortune ?"

Colouring a little, at the conceited and self-
important air of this interrogatory, Grace mildly,
but firmly replied, —

" I mean to sav, Mr. Burton, that, with a due

238 OLDCOURT.

appreciation of both, I wish them to be proffered,
where they may be received with those senti-
ments of satisfaction, which you seem to think
tliey are so well calculated to inspire.'*

" Oh ! very well. Miss Oldcourt," exclaimed
Mr. Bob Burton, in a hufied and angry tone,
rising from his chair, " there is no harm done,
I hope ; and though 1 do not sport a cockade, or
a title, I believe I might count acres with any
baronet in the county."

Grace blushed " like crimson,'' as the saying is,
and was, for a second, confounded at this im-
pertinence ; but recovering herself, and rising
also from her seat, with great dignity, she said, —

•' 1 will not, sir, give you any farther oppor-
tunity of diminishing, by your indiscretion, the
compliment I would willingly owe to your parti-
ality;" quitting the room at the close of the
sentence, and leaving Mr. Burton to his own
reflections.

The approach of the old ladies from the
garden, however, relieved him, in some degree,
from such disagreeable company. Though Mr.
Bob Burton was not blessed with one of those
faces, which have any claim to be considered as
"the index of the mind," yet his mother im-
mediately perceived that something had occurred
to ruffle his composure ; and he, on his part.

OLDCOURT. 239

though no great physiognomist, quickly dis-
covered, in the maternal countenance, that her
negociation had been as unsuccessful as his own.
A considerable degree of embarrassment ap-
peared to prevail amongst the parties. Mrs.
Oldcourt, however, was polite and pressing in
her offers of refreshment ; but after some un-
meaning general remarks, which showed that
the spirit of amicable intercourse had been
frozen down to the very zero of civil alienation,
the disappointed Burtons stiffly and ceremo-
niously departed.

As Grace had some reason to suppose that
her mother was not unfavourable to Mr. Bob
Burton's addresses, she was quite relieved to
find, on a reciprocal relation of what had passed,
that Mrs. Oldcourt no longer espoused his cause.
The speculations, however, which had produced
so sudden a change in her sentiments, that good
lady did not think it necessary to communicate
to her daughter ; and though Grace could not
avoid entertaining some suspicions on the sub-
ject, she was particularly reluctant to show any
curiosity by an inquiry.

The mother and daughter both agreed to sup-
press Mr. Burton's impertinent insinuation
respecting the baronet, lest Barry Oldcourt, who
was rather fiery in his temper, should resent it.

240 OLDCOURT.

The day and the dinner now passed off
heavily enough ; although, to gratify the squire's
wish, Mr. Denny Burne made his appearance
"in pudden time." Tuesday, indeed, was ge-
nerally the day upon which Mr. Denny Burne
thought fit to exercise the habit which he had
contrived to establish, of " dropping in just to
inquire after his old friend ;" and he was by no
means willing that the supplemental Sunday
dinner should disturb the routine of his usual
weekly refections at the castle.

Another guest, also, contributed by his pre-
sence, to rescue the squire from the ennui of
a mere family party, in the person of Mr. Jerry
Mulhall, the hearth-money collector of the dis-
trict.

The squire being, as he expressed it, out on
the recruiting service for the convivial campaign,
encountered this terrific visitor of an Irish vil-
lage, w'ith his tax-book in his hand, his ink-horn
at his button-hole, and his pen behind his ear,
at the moment when he was about to satisfy the
law, by seizing the only piece of furniture of a
wretched hovel, in which a hole in the w^all, with
the appearance of a half-burnt brick in it, was
construed to be a lona-fide fire-place, " within
the intent and meaning of the statute."

The squire, alv/ays generous to his poor neigh-

OLDCOURT. 241

bours, extricated the only bed of the cottager
from the grasp of the fiscal functionary ; and
ha\ing distributed the light contents of his purse,
in relieving other victims from a similar state
of distress, he insisted on arresting Mr. Jerry
]\Iulhairs farther progress that day, by carrying
him home to dinner at the castle.

To the hospitahties of that ancient mansion,
Mr. Mulhall was no stranger ; and his experience
of the good cheer that was to be found there,
made him very wilhng to suspend his operations,
for the pleasure of enjoying it again.

But neither Mr. Burne nor Mr. Mulhall were
particularly qualified to enliven the social board.
They were a species of festal flints, out of which
no intellectual steel could strike a spark of fire,
and no train of conversation was ever ignited by
their aid. They, indeed, never seemed disposed
to open their mouths, but to put something into
them ; and the squire himself used to say of them,
that " a pair of duller dogs never soaked up a
sea of good liquor."

Mr. Oldcourt was, therefore, in every sense of
the word, the entertainer ; and the presence of
even the most uncongenial guest never failed to
excite in him a flow^ of pleasantry and good spi-
rits, which always failed him, when he was con-
tined to his own family circle.

VOL. III. M

242 OLDtOURT.

The ladies, to whom the company of their
present visitors was particularly distasteful, retired
a? early as possible from the dining-room. Pierce
Doran complained of being ill, was pale, silent,
and thoughtful ; and Master Garret was generally
half asleep, when not amongst his noisy associates
at the " Goat's Head."

The contrast, therefore, was complete, between
this day and that which preceded it.

Grace Oldcourt had observed, with great re-
gret, that Pierce Doran's palHd aspect and rest-
less eye, indicated not only indisposition of body,
but distress of mind. She took the most af-
fectionate interest in his welfare ; and as she
conceived his present unhappiness to arise en-
tirely from wounded feelings, under an im-
pression that INIrs. Oldcourt was averse to his
continued residence in the castle, she was par-
ticularly anxious for an opportunity to relieve his
mind upon that subject ; and, also, to ascertain
clearly, what were his own views with respect to
his advancement in life, that she m.ight, if in her
power, forward them with her father.

As poor Doran seemed to shun every oppor-
tunity of explanation, she, also, began to appre-
hend that he ascribed to her a sentiment similar
to that which, he had some reason to suppose,
actuated her mother with regard to him ; and the

OLDCOURT. 243

idea that such a suspicion existed in his mind,
pierced her to the heart.

After tea, therefore, at a moment when Mrs.
Oldcourt and Miss Matty Malone had left the
room, and the squire and his guests were still
engaged in the dining-parlour, Grace intercepted
Doran, as he was retiring from a tete-a-tete,
with the dangers of which he was but too well
acquainted. Spreading her hands, in a playful
manner before him, as he drew towards the door,
she exclaimed, with a smile that fixed him to the
spot in speechless admiration : —

" No, no, Mr. Pierce; you shall not escape me
now, till we have a little conversation ; so march
back quietly to your seat;" leading him by the
sleeve to his chair.

Doran's agitation allowed him hardly breath to
utter a word ; at length, in a tremulous voice, he
said, —

" Miss Oldcourt, if I have tried to escape from
you, it is because I would fly from myself — from
this house, and," he added, in a tumult of feeling,
" from the world."

" Good Heavens I my dear Pierce I" exclaimed
Grace, with great surprise ; " is it possible you
can take up this matter so seriously, — that you
can so easily misconceive the feeUngs of your

244 OLDCOURT.

friends, — your family let me rather say ; for are
you not one of us, and dear to us all ? Do you
not know my mother too well, to suspect her of
an unkind sentiment to any human being, much
less to you, whom she has ever regarded as the
child of her adoption ? and what have /done, and
how have I offended, to be thus repelled by cold
words, and an averted eye ?"

" Oh God I" exclaimed poor Doran, in au
agony of agitation.

" Am I not," continued the enthusiastic girl,
" the same Grace Oldcourt of our early days ?
The same willing sharer in your griefs and joys, —
unchilled — unchanged, by time or circumstances,
and holding you as dearly as a brother."

She might have continued the same strain of
impassioned remonstrance to any extent, without
interruption from Doran ; he seemed almost
convulsed with contending emotions, and every
muscle worked in a fruitless effort to suppress the
powerful feeling that swelled in his throat to
suffocation. At length, starting from his seat,
and raising up his hands and eyes, he fervently
exclaimed, —

" Now, Heaven, in mercy aid me, in this
trying moment of my life, or I am lost for ever I"

Grace, alarmed bv the frantic wildness of his

OLDCOURT, 245

manner, looked at him with the most anxious
expression of astonishment; and, clasping her
hands, exclaimed, —

" Oh, Pierce I \Yhat can be the meaning of
this dreadful agitation ? Your looks quite frighten
me ! for God's sake what has happened ? I am
sure something serious must have happened, to
shake you thus ! tell me, I implore you, tell me, the
cause of a distress which you must be convinced
every member of this family will be anxious to
remove."

Recovering a little calmness, Doran, who had,
with hurried step, paced the room, now approached
her, with pale and ghastly aspect, and said, —

" Oh, Grace ! for I will once more address you
by that dear, familiar name ; angelic friend, and
companion of my worthless life ! do not misinter-
pret emotions which. Heaven is witness, I long
have struggled to suppress. Do not imagine 1
can, even for a moment, doubt your generous
kindness, — your long tried friendship to a wretch
that but for you and yours, would be but as a clod
of the earth on which he walks, — unknowing
and unknown. No, Grace, though I am unhappy,
oh ! how unhappy I I will never be ungrateful ;
and I should think my hfe a mean sacrifice for the
smallest drop of blood that circles in the veins of
any one belonging to the race of Oldcourt."

246 oldCourt.

Thus assured that there existed no impression
on Doran's mind, of abated kindness on her part,
or that of her family, Grace began to fear that
his uneasiness might spring from some cause
which he might be very unwilling to disclose ;
she therefore said, —

" Well, Pierce, I have no right to press for a
confidence which you may not think proper to
repose in me ; but that you are unhappy, has
been but too apparent to us all. You have long
lost the gay and cheerful spirit that distinguished
you. My mother seems to think that, actuated
by an ambition which is natural enough at your
age, you wish to advance yourself in the world;
and I own, I was more than anxious that you
should not mistake her motives in encouraging
you to the avowal of a desire, which she feared
your delicacy would not suffer you to express."

" Mrs. Oldcourt," replied Doran, " is the best
and most generous of women ; and I owe more
to her than ever son owed to mother. If T have
felt her words, it was not in a fretful or offended
spirit ; but because they sounded in my ears as a
call of duty, to which my reason responded,
though my heart rebelled. Yes, yes, yes ! *'
continued he, with increasing emotion ; " my
reason long has told me, that this house is no fit
place for me ; though, deluded by my feelings and

OLDCOURT. 247

my fate, I have lingered on, till I fear there is
now left me neither hope nor rescue."

" Good God! what can this mean?" ex-
claimed Grace, turning pale with emotion almost
equal to his own, and conceiving him to allude
to some personal hazard. " Is it, then, essen-
tial to your safety. Pierce, that you should leave
us?"

Quite overcome by the torrent of his feehngs,
and the touching interest the affectionate girl
betrayed for his welfare, poor Doran, in an
agony, exclaimed, —

" Urge me not, oh ! urge me not to betray a
secret that has been so long trembhng on my
lips, and bursting in my heart. Let me escape
while I have strength to shun the precipice that
yawns before me — let me fly this house — this
scene of all my joy, and all my sorrow, — while
you can yet think of me with kindness — while I
can think of myself without detestation — while I
retain my honour — my integrity — my senses." —
Then, seizing her hand, and pressing it to his lips,
in an uncontrollable access of passion, he added, —
" Angelic being I pity and forgive the wretch
whom you have made ! " and rushed from the
apartment.

248 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XV.

The surprise cmd concern \vhich were excited
in the mind of Grace Oldcourt, by the few wild
words that betraved to her the long hoarded se-
cret of unhappy Pierce Doran, almost deprived
her of the power to move. The colour fled from
her cheeks, she grew faint, and sunk into a chair
in such a state of feebleness and confusion, as
must have alarmed any person who could have
seen her at the moment. Luckily, however, be-
fore the return of her mother, or Miss Matty,
to the drawing-room, she recovered herself suf-
ficiently to make good her retreat to her own
apartment, where she could meditate, undisturbed,
on a discovery so embarrassing, and for which
she W'as so httle prepared.

Doran's words had operated upon .her like an
electric shock. It seemed as if a sudden light
had flashed upon her. w^hich at once cleared up

OLDCOURT. 24 9

all that was dark and mysterious in that young
man's conduct, and accounted for the long ob-
served change in his temper and general de-
portment.

Nothing, indeed, could more plainly prove the
absence of all vanity, coquetry, or affectation,
from the artless character of Grace Oidcourt,
than that she had remained so long unconscious
of the peculiar sentiments, with which she had
inspired a worshipper so devoted to her as her
unhappy foster-brother.

But the kind of relation in which she stood
towards Doran, combined with her natural mo-
desty, and the deficient estimate which she formed
of her own attractions, contributed effectually to
mislead the delicate discernment which she pos-
sessed : a faculty which is reported to charac-
terize her sex, particularly in all cases where the
tender passion is concerned.

Grace Oidcourt and Doran, as the reader will
recollect, had been brought up together from
their birth. He was earlier and more intimately
associated with all her pleasures and pursuits,
than even her own brothers. She was accus-
tomed to receive from him every mark of regard
and attachment, which could be displayed in the
different stages of an intercourse, which, from the
period of Doran's establishment in the castle,
M 2

250 OLDCOURT.

had assumed a family character, and was there-
fore unrestrained and uninterrupted.

The playful fondness of the child, had on his
part gradually and imperceptibly warmed into the
affectionate attentions of the youth, and the ar-
dent but guarded devotion of the young man ;
and as the qualities which distinguished the
amiable and lovely object of his idolatry, were
such as called forth the most enthusiastic regard,
from every member of her family, the general as-
siduity of affection by which she was surrounded,
rendered her less likely to discriminate nicely,
between the close masked admiration of the lover,
and the almost equally vigilant devotion of her
own relations.

Other circumstances, also, assisted not a little
to deceive Grace Oldcourt, as to the nature of
poor Doran's attachment to her. The peculiar
ties by which, in an old Irish family, the nurse
may be said to be endearingly connected with
every individual of it, to whom she may have per-
formed the earliest and tenderest maternal office,
have been already adverted to ; and the sentiment
of kindness which resulted from them, extended
not only to the nurse but to her children, par-
ticularly to those of the same cradle, and some-
times even to her remote connections.

But though this species of cradle kindness, if

OLDCOURT. 251

I may so call it, ^va3 allowed such influence in
Ireland, in no other country, from the peculiar
notions of the parties, could the line of demark-
ation between the patronage and dependence which
it created, be more secure from encroachment.
Thus, though Pierce Doran was adopted by the
Oldcourts, and considered as one of the family,
neither he, nor his benefactors, ever forgot that he
was not of the same rank, nor of the same blood.
This feeling, however, was never allowed to in-
fluence the liberal cordiaUty with which he was
treated, and it operated only to beget a security
on the side of the Oldcourts, that as there could
be no pretensions to an equality, their grateful
proteg^ could neither desire nor attempt to esta-
blish it.

In this confidence Grace Oldcourt fully partici-
pated ; and though no human being was more
exempt from the vulgar pride of wealth or
station, yet, she never for a moment suspected
that Doran could so far presume upon the re-
cognised privileges of the character in which he
was received at the castle, as to entertain anv
other sentiments towards her than those of re-
spectful deference, and grateful regard.

All the associations of her life, which were
more or less connected with him, his own merits,
and the undeviatij^g zeal with which he ever at-

252 OLCCOURT.

tended to her gratification, produced in her the
warmest esteem, the most perfect confidence, and
the purest sisterly affection ; but the interchange
of any other sentiments between them, was so
Uttle in accordance with her ideas of the relative
position in which they stood, that she had never
anticipated even the possibility of such a result
from their intercourse, as that of which she had
just made the discovery.

For poor Doran's unhappy situation, she felt
the sincerest concern ; and could hardly acquit
herself in her own eyes, for having by a too un-
guarded confidence and familiarity, unconsciously
contributed to encourage sentiments in his breast,
which she could neither sanction nor share.

She now thought she could account for what
had appeared to her a little unkind in her mo-
ther's late observations respecting Doran ; and
Grace herself could not but feel that his con-
tinuance in the family, was, for his own sake, as
undesirable, as it w^ould be embarrassing to her.

As Doran, however, seemed to be himself
aware of v.hat his sense of duty prescribed to him,
under such circumstances, and had so strongly
expressed his determination to leave the castle,
Grace, after much dehberation, resolved to pre-
serve silence as to what had just passed between
them ; and this course she wa^ the more readily

OLDCOURT. 253

inclined to ad^pt, from the reflection, that she
had herself, in some measure, wrung from poor
Doran his secret, in a moment of agitation, and
evidently without his having had any previous
intention to reveal it.

She was, moreover, fully convinced, that the
slightest intimation to her father and brothers,
that Doran had so far forgotten himself, as to
address her on such a subject, would entirely
ruin him in their estimation, and expose him to
an immediate and angry expulsion from the
family.

From these considerations, though the most
open and artless of human beings, and accustomed
to think aloud, as it were, amongst her own
family, she conceived that she was bound to keep
Doran's secret for the present; and she deter-
mined while they remained together under the
same roof, to observe a more guarded demeanour
towards him, and avoid all opportunities of par-
ticular communication, without resorting to any
such palpable change in her conduct as might be
hurtful to his feelings, or hl^ely to excite the ob-
servation of her friends.

In this state, things remained at the castle for
some days. Doran always contrived to have busi-
ness to transact, either for the squire or himself,
which carried him abroad, particularly at meal

254 OLDCOURT.

times ; and when, without any feasible pretext for
his absence, he found himself obliged to join the
family circle, the plea of illness which he offered
for the deep melancholy that oppressed him, was
but too strongly confirmed by his feverish eye
and haggard aspect.

The young men of the family manifested the
most friendly interest for him. Barry feared he
had involved himself in some attachment which
embarrassed him, and the nature of which he
was unwilling to disclose. The squire wondered
" what had come over the boy, so changed as he
was, from such a fine lively lad, that it was a
pleasure to have him in the house ; he was sure
he could have no cause to be uneasy or unhappy,
situated as he was in the castle, and with such
expectations of what might be done for him one
of those days. The poor fellow, he thought, must
be going out of his mind."

Mrs. Oldcourt "was very apprehensive from
the sudden flushings of his cheek, and the process
of general emaciation which appeared to be going
on in his frame, that he was consumptive, and
she would advise an immediate change of air, and
a milk diet. She was quite sure if he would
go, for a month or two, to his father on the hill,
drink goats' whey, and take gentle horse exercise,
he would be soon as well as ever he was."

OLDCOURT. 255

"Well, but my dear Nelly," said Mr. Oldcourt,
a little impatiently ; for independent of the real
regard ^Yhich he entertained for poor Doran,
the latter was too useful to him, to be spared
without great reluctance ; " I can't see why the
air of Oldcourt is not as good as the air on the
hill : and he can have goats' milk here, and
asses' milk, too, if he wants it ; and as much
horse-exercise as he pleases, without sending the
poor boy out of the house, just at the time when
he most requires our assistance. Besides, my
dear, w^iere is the use of all your balsams and
cordials, and pectorals, and possets, if you can't
show your skill upon Pierce Doran, and bring
back the blush of health in his cheek."

" My dear Mr. Oldcourt,*' rephed his lady, with
an air of conscious science, which would have done
credit to a country apothecary, — " consumption
is a disease which is called the opprobrium, or
disgrace of medicine, because physic can do
nothing for it. Diet, air, and exercise, are the
only doctors to deal w^ith it ; and change of air,
even from good air to bad, has been often found
efficacious. I am convinced this is the worst
place in the world for Pierce Doran."

" And it is my opinion," said Miss Matty
Malone, stretching out her head, and taking a

256 oldcourT.

pinch of snufF, no small portion of which was de-
posited in her lap, " that he thinks so himself."

" Then I am sure, if he does," hastily ob-
served the squire, " he must be very ungrateful."
Grace Oldcourt, who for reasons that will
readily occur to the reader, had before taken no
part in the conversation, now interposed, in
defence of her unhappy friend ; and colouring
deeply, said : —

"Oh, papa! whatever may be the cause of
Pierce Doran's illness or unhappiness, this fa-
mily, I am satisfied, will never find him
ungrateful."

In this warm assurance, Grace was loudly
echoed by all her brothers, who, with one
voice, declared that Doran was an excellent
fellow, and would lay down his life, they were
sure, in the service of his benefactors.

Miss Matty Malone now observed, " that he
was a very good young man ; but it had been
her opinion, all along, that never any good
came of taking people out of their sphere, and
giving them ideas beyond their natural station.
She had, for some time, remarked, that he
seemed gloomy and discontented ; and she was
sure that, as Hamlet says, (for Miss Matty was
a reader of Shakspeare,) 'he lacked advance-

OLDCOURT. 257

ment/ She rather suspected, indeed, that he
meditated to remove himself from the castle ;
for she overheard him the night before, say,
\\'ith a deep sigh, when giving some directions to
old Andrew, that he hoped he should not be
long a trouble to him, or any of the family/'

Grace was the only person who agreed in Miss
Matty Malone's interpretation of poor Doran's
expression ; and as she took care not to mention
that agreement, the rest of the party saw nothing
more in his words, than a casual trait of the me-
lancholy which oppressed him.

Thus, the consultation on poor Doran's case,
like most other consultations, terminated very
little to the advantage of the patient ; though, in
this instance at least, it might be said, that there
was one individual engaged in it, who understood
the real nature of the complaint.

Though Grace could not but acknowledge to
herself, that Doran's departure from the castle,
which she had now no doubt he meditated, was,
under all the circumstances, absolutely necessary;
yet she could not contemplate the cessation of
an intercourse which had continued so long, and
from which she had derived so much satisfaction,
without the sincerest feelings of regret.

The warm interest, too, which she took in the
fate of her unhappy admirer, and her uncertainty

258 OLDCOURT,

as to the manner in which he intended to dispose
of himself, diverted her thoughts almost entirely,
from the reflection which, nevertheless, had now
and then occurred to her, that Sir Walter D'Arcy's
" early opportunity of paying his respects at the
castle," turned out to be somewhat later than
she had expected.

The baronet, however, made his appearance
in full time to rescue his gallantry from imputa-
tion ; and the ardour of his attentions must have
satisfied the most tenacious spirit of exaction,
that Cupid could inspire in a female breast. His
presence had the effect of relieving, in a con-
siderable degree, that depression of spirits which
Grace experienced on poor Doran's account ;
and to the full amount of which, it must be
acknowledged, certain disturbing contemplations,
in which D'Arcy was concerned, contributed
their share.

Sir Walter's reception at the castle was as
cordial as he himself could desire, and as hos-
pitality could make it. The sentiment of admi-
ration which Grace Oldcourt had excited in his
breast, during his former visit, had suffered no
diminution in the interval of his absence, and
now derived additional vigour from the renewed
impression of her attractions.

In her he beheld that combination of qua-

OLDCOURT. 259

lities, personal and mental, which may be said to
constitute the romantic vision of every young
man's dream, when first he meditates on matri-
mony, and pictures to himself the paragon of per-
fection, with whom he would wish to connect his
destiny, by the rapturous union of kindred hearts.

Though D'Arcy's early dissipations had tended
very much to lower his general estimate of the
female character, and his experience of the frail
part of the fair sex, had nearly brought him to a
determination never to shackle himself with
bonds, which, in the lean monde, at least, he had
found to be rather a cover for vice, than a security
for virtue, yet, he had too much imagination not
to have frequently indulged in those reveries of
connubial felicity, in which the soul ardently
aspires after a purer intercourse with some more
perfect being, than we are likely to find amongst
the common-place characters of this world.

In Grace Oldcourt, however, D'Arcy thought
he had discovered a beautiful personification of
all that he had ever conceived of female excel-
lence ; and under circumstances, also, which
seemed to enhance the value of every charm,
and ensure the stability of every virtue.

The idea of matrimony, therefore, was, in her
company, presented occasionally to his mind,
under associations with which it had never been

260

OLDCOURT.

before connected ; and he was strongly inclined
to the opinion, that a union with such a captiva-
ting creature as Grace Oldcourt, was, perhaps,
after all, the best foundation for durable felicity,
which sublunary things afford.

These reflections produced in the baronet a
very anxious determination to cultivate, by the
most winning assiduities, the good opinion of
Miss Oldcourt ; and, during his present visit, he
was, if possible, more agreeable and entertaining
than before.

Doran, he was rather pleased to perceive, did
not appear ; for, although D'Arcy had too good
an opinion of himself to apprehend any danger
from him as a rival, yet the nature of his con-
nexion with the Oldcourts, gave him an evident
interest with Grace, which her new admirer did
not regard with any satisfaction.

In the course of conversation, when Mrs.
Oldcourt happened to mention Doran's name,
the baroriiet took an oportunity of observing,
with an apropos, " that he had not forgotten his
promise respecting her proteg^ — that he had
written to some friends of his, connected with
the government, and he had no doubt that a
respectable situation in the colonial civil service
might be obtained for him, if the young man had
no objection to go abroad."

OLDCOURT. 261

During the latter part of this intimation,
D'Arcy directed a penetrating glance towards
Grace Oldcourt, in whose countenance, however,
he could discover nothing but a very animated
glow of satisfaction, at a prospect of advantage to
her ill-fated friend. Indeed, she felt quite grate-
ful for the baronet's interference in his favour.
and thought the situation proposed, by removing
Doran at once from all painful associations,
would be the very best thing which could be
wished for him.

Mrs. Oldcourt, too, was all acknowledgment : " a
sea voyage would be of such infinite service to
poor Pierce ; and as he appeared to be so delicate,
a warm climate would set him up entirely ; she
only hoped he would not stand in his own light,
and from any foolish notion of independence, re-
ject the interposition of his friends.''

The squire, however, by no means participated
in the pleasure of his wife and daughter, at the
prospect of Doran's promotion. He. seemed to
sit uneasily upon his chair; and though politeness
required that he, also, should express his obliga-
tion to the baronet's good offices, yet he per-
formed his task very awkwardly ; and added, with
evident dissatisfaction, "that he could not conceive
tow it should have entered the boy's head to wish
to quit his comfortable home, and go upon a wild-

262 OLDCOURT.

goose chase, the Lord knows where. He was
ver}^ much mistaken if he would find himself so
well off any where, as in the castle amongst his
friends ; but if the young gentleman really thought
himself so full fledged, that he might fly from the
nest where he had been so long nourished with
care and kindness — in God's name ! let him try
the experiment ; he should be sorry to prevent
him."

The squire's angry objections to Pierce Doran's
imputed vagarious tendencies, were met by the
whole party with the usual wise observations : —
the natural desire of youth to change the scene —
the love of novelty implanted in us for wise pur-
poses— the ambition of distinction, and in Do-
ran's particular case — the laudable anxiety to ex-
ert himself for his own support, instead of re-
maining a burthen on his friends.

The baronet, with whom it was a great point
to stand well with his host, ingeniously con-
trived again, on this occasion, to enlist the old
gentleman's vanity against his feelings. He de-
clared that Mr. Oldcourt's sentiments did him
the highest honour ; for though his benevolence
prompted him to take the charge of his protege
upon himself at home, yet nothing could be
more evident, from the spirit which had always
distinsjuished ^Ir. Oldcourt's character, than that

OLDCOURT. 263

he must approve of those kindred quahties which
ought to influence a young man in Mr. Doran*s
situation.

Barry Oldcourt, under the sanction of Sir
Walter's authority, was strenuous on the same
side, and ventured to throw in some excellent
observations about " dawdhng at home," "pac-
ing the same horse in a mill-round," " vegetatinp;
like a cabbage," " inglorious ease," &c. &c. ; ah of
which, however, were slily directed to apply to
his own case, rather than to Doran's,and intended
to advocate his hitherto fruitless desire to take
the field as an Austrian officer.

The squire v>-as not very impressible by argu-
ment; but when his spirit was appealed to, in such
flattering terms, the reference was generallv
irresistible. He, therefore, " candidly acknow-
ledged, that he was the last man who ought to
censure the workings of a high spirit in anv
young man ; but still he thought it was very odd,
and he wondered that Pierce Doran could not be
satisfied where he was, particularly when he
knew that he was so useful to the family, and
might expect to have something done for him
one of those days."

Farther discussion on the subject was here
prevented bv the entrance of Doran himself,
who appeared as if he suffered under the fatigue

264 OLDCOURT.

of a hurried journey. His look was pale and
agitated, and after communicating to Mr. Old-
court, in a few words, the result of some com-
mission which he had executed in Galway, he
retired to his seat, without taking any particular
notice of the baronet's presence.

The family seemed to be a little embarrassed,
by what they conceived to be a disrespect to
D'Arcy on the part of Doran ; and Mrs^
Oldcourt thought it particularly unlucky, at a
moment when Sir Walter was employing his
good offices to serve him ; she, therefore, having
no doubt, from his desire to go abroad into the
world, that Doran would be really pleased with
the communication, determined to give him an
opportunity of setting himself right with the
baronet, and redeeming his politeness. Ad-
dresssing him, therefore, in her affectionate way,
she said, —

" My dear Pierce ! 1 am happy to tell you,
that Sir Walter D'Arcy has been so good as to
interest some of his friends in your favour ; and
there is every prospect of something turning up
highly advantageous to your future prospects."

The moment the name of Sir Walter D'Arcy
sounded in the foregoing sentence, the blood
rushed into poor Doran's cheeks, with a violence
that seemed to set his face on fire, and it

OLDCOURT. 265

retreated with equal impetuosity to his heart,
when Mrs. Oldcourt closed her observation,
leaving him as pale as death.

His agitation was too palpable not to attract
the notice of all around him ; for a second,
he seemed to struggle with his feeUngs, and
rising from his cliair, in a faltering voice, he
addressed Mrs. Oldcourt.

" To you, madam, and to my ever revered
patron and protector," looking to the squire,
" I owe a debt, which no efforts of my life
can sufficiently repay ; you have been to me
more — much more than a mother, and your
wall has ever been, as it ought to be — my law.
You will find that I need no new stimulus to
prompt my compliance with that will now, when
my reason tells me, it is most reasonable. But
I trust, it will not be considered an impeach-
ment of my gratitude to this family, if," turning
with a fierce look towards the baronet, "I de-
cline the services of Sir Walter D'Arcy;" on
saying which, he walked sternly out of the
room.

The whole party were astonished at the scene,
and the excitement which seemed to have deprived
Doran of all self-possession. They were eager
in their apologies to the baronet, who only
smiled, and assured Mrs. Oldcourt, " that what

VOL. III. N

266 OLDCOURT.

had passed should not have any unfavourable
effect upon his exertions to serve Mr. Doran, so
long as any of the family were interested in his
favour.

Grace Oldcoiirt was afraid to trust herself
with the expression of a single word ; she was
actually alarmed at the wild look of her unhappy
foster-brother, and the inimical feehng which
he seemed to betray towards D'iVrcy ; for she
was the only one of the family who had a clue
to account for an hostility, which to the rest
appeared so extraordinary and unprovoked.

The squire, who could by no means understand
what appeared to him the mystery of Doran's
recent proceedings, was much more surprised
than displeased at the rejection of the baronet's
services. He declared he " was quite sure
the poor boy had himself no desire to quit the
castle, and he wondered who could have put
such a thing in his head. It was very odd, but
they all seemed to him to be driving the lad
out against his will ; which was very cruel and
unthinking, considering how useful he had made
himself upon all occasions."

An intention of this sort, was, of course, ener-
getically disclaimed by all parties ; the baronet
assured Mr. Oldcourt that no consideration
would have tempted him to interfere, if he had

OLDCOURT. 267

not conceived, that he was acting conformably
to the wishes of the family. Many compliments,
protestations, and explanations, were now cor-
dially exchanged on all sides ; and after a day,
which, with the exception of the little incident
just related, at the close of it, had passed off
much to the general satisfaction, the baronet
was allowed to take his leave, as his presence
was necessary at his quarters in Galway.

268 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XVL

After the interview with Grace Oldcourt, in
which Pierce Doran had been so far overcome
by his feehngs, as to betray the secret of his
heart, he retired to his room, in a state of mind
very httle to be envied by any man upon whom
the most awful sentence of the law was not about
to be executed. Irresolution, however, was now
at an end ; and he felt, that to remain longer at
the castle, would be only to wait for an ex-
pulsion, which could not fail to be attended, on
his part, with disgrace. He knew his mistress
too well to believe, for a moment, that she would
wilhngly expose him to such a result, by dis-
covering to the family what had occurred between
them ; and he determined, as soon as possible,
to relieve her from the restraint which his pre-
sence would naturally impose upon her.

A night of agitation, rather than dehberation,

OLDCOURT.

269

did not supply him with any plan of proceeding,
upon which he could immediately act. He was
determined not only to leave the castle, but the
country ; it was easier, however, in his circum-
stances, to resolve upon such a measure than to
carry it into effect. The squire was not over-
stocked with money himself, and did not conceive
that those whose w^ants were all provided for,
under his roof> could have much reasonable
need of it ; he was, therefore, not particularly
solicitous to replenish the purses of the young
people about him, and poor Doran never had
less of his Majesty's coin in his possession, than
just at the period here commemorated.

Unluckily, also, he could not recruit his funds
from any other quarter. His mother, Grace Old-
-court's nurse, had been some years dead ; and his
father and he were not on very good terms. Old
Doran was a coarse and vulgar -minded man; and
though his son had been always anxious to pay
him every attention consistent with his duty to
bis benefactor, yet the old man was testily dis-
posed to consider himself neglected. He seemed
quite jealous of the favour shown to his son at
the castle ; and, latterly, never saw him but to
taunt him with the accusation of being " a fine
gentleman, and ashamed of his father."

This impression on old Doran*s mind was the

2/0 OLDCOURT.

more distressing to his son, as it interrupted, in
a great degree, his intercourse with his only
sister, a young, handsome, and interesting girl,
who kept house for her father, and to whom her
brother was much attached.

To the old farmer, therefore, Doran could
neither explain his situation, nor apply for
assistance. His first idea was to direct his steps
to the metropolis ; but he had not the means
even to transport himself thither, much less to
sustain him therefor any time after his arrival.

In this dilemma, to enhst as a soldier, seemed
to be his sole chance of extrication. But here,
an unconquerable objection occurred; the only
recruiting party wathin his reach, was stationed at
the mihtary depot in Galway, where the baronet
commanded ; and poor Doran would rather die
than present himself before his rival, under such
humiliating circumstances.

In this state of perplexity some days elapsed,
during w^hich, as has been already stated, he,
under the pretext of business, avoided as much
as possible, his ordinary intercourse with the
family of the castle.

The agony of his mind, however, increased to
such a degree, that he resolved to try if he
could not enter himself as a sailor, in some of
the vessels then lying in Galway Bay ; • and he

OLDCOURT. 271

had proceeded to that town, for the purpose ot
making the inquiry, when his eye was attracted
by a placard, inviting " all spirited young heroes
who wished to make their fortunes, and return,
like nabobs, loaded with diamonds, rupees, and
pcigodas, to repair to Lieutenant Tiiiin, at the
Mogul's Head Inn, who would immediately lead
them to the paths of glory, in the Honourable
East India Company's service."

Doran hesitated not a moment to embrace
this opportunity of putting an end to a state of
uncertainty which had become quite insupport-
able to him; and as both parties were equally
desirous to close the bargain. Lieutenant Tiffin
and he soon came to an agreement. It was
after the die was cast, and he had pledged him-
self to join a party of oriental adventurers, who
were to march from Gal way on the following
day, that he returned to the castle, just in time
to meet his rival there, and occasion the scene
which has been described in the preceding
chapter.

The sensations with which Doran approached,
for the last time, as he thought, the long-loved
scene in which he had found a happy home,
almost from his birth, must be left to the imagi-
nation of the reader to conceive.

There was not an object within the range of

272 OLDCOURT.

his eye as he proceeded, — not a stone, a tree, or
a spot, with which the unclouded dehghts of his
childhood — the pleasures of his youth — or the
rapturous emotions of his manhood, were not
associated. The castle had been to him as the
whole w^orld ; beyond its walls, life seemed to
possess no interest ; for within them was to be
found that angelic being, to whom his soul, as if
by an instinct of nature, even from the first days
of his infancy, had been irresistibly attracted.

Upon that scene so endeared to him, — upon
that countenance whose smile had been to him,
for years, as the light of heaven, — he was now
about to look for the last time. His heart sunk,
and his limbs shook under him at the thought.
As he moved towards the drawing-room where
the Oldcourt party were assembled, his head
became dizzy, a cold shivering seized him, and
he vras obliged to pause for a few moments,
before he could recover strength sufficient to
enter the apartment.

The presence of the baronet, at such a mo-
ment, for which he was not prepared, tended to
aggravate his distress ; but Mrs. Oldcourt' s ra-
ther formal statement of Sir Walter's exertions
in his favour, was the last drop in his cup of
bitterness, that caused it to overflow.

On leaving the room in the manner before

OLDCOURT. 273

described, his feelings were wrought up to such a
pitch of excitement, that, to avoid observation,
he rushed from the house, and wandered for
some time about the adjoining grounds, till, in
some of the unconscious windings of his walk,
he found himself at the entrance of a little
grotto, a favourite retreat of his mistress, in
which she delighted to sit and read during the
warm and serene evenings of summer.

This was the last place to which, from the
associations connected with it, he could have
wished to resort ; but he entered it mechanically.
It was adorned with a profusion of shells, pebbles,
difterent kinds of mosses, magazine prints, and
small pieces of looking-glass, dispersed with great
taste in a variety of picturesque combinations.
The v.hole was the work of Grace Oldcourt, aided
by Pierce Doran and his sister, then a little girl,
of whom Grace took great notice, frequently re-
taining her at the castle for several days toge-
ther, to assist in such operations. The hours
which had been employed in the decoration
of this little edifice, formed the happiest period
of poor Doran's life ; for, with the characteristic
thoughtlessness which belongs to the early age of
seventeen, he had looked and loved, without a fear
of the consequences ; and enjoyed the sunshine of
the present, without allowing a cloud from the
N 2

274 OLDCOURT.

future to darken his prospects, or diminish the
lustre of the scene.

Now, whichever way he turned his head in the
little apartment, he was reminded of some pleasur-
able train of circumstances connected with the
work. Visions of his departed joys seemed to
rise up on all sides around him, as if to renew the
impressions of a felicity which was never to
return, and render the contrast with his present
misery more dreadful.

Unmanned by his emotions, he flung himseit
upon the seat of the grotto, and burst into tears.
For some little time, he indulged a flow of sor-
row, by which the burning heat of his brain ap-
peared to be somewhat relieved ; and he was pre-
paring to retire from the spot, when the sound
of a light approaching footstep arrested his at-
tention, and before he could determine whether
to move or to remain, Grace Oldcourt entered the
grotto from the house.

After the departure of Sir Walter D'Arcy, the
close of a delicious evening in June, had tempted
her to seek her favourite retreat, for the double
purpose of enjoying the air, and indulging, undis-
turbed, in some pensive reflections arising out of
the events which had recently so much changed
the even tenor of her life.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, she had ad-

OLDCOURT. 275

vanced some steps into the grotto, before she
was sensible that she was not alone ; and the mo-
ment she perceived Doran, she started, coloured,
and made a movement to retire, saying : —

" Oh, Pierce ! is it you ? I did not know you
were here."

"Nor did I mean. Miss Oldcourt, that you
should find me here," answered Doran, in a me-
lancholy tone ; " but since fortune has favoured
me so far, let me seize the opportunity — "

Observmg that she moved towards the door
with some expression of alarm, he now, in a tre-
mor of agitation, exclaimed : —

"Oh, God! then, is it possible that Grace
Oldcourt can entertain an apprehension of Pierce
Doran, or that she will not vouchsafe one part-
ing word to him whose life has been blessed in
her friendship, and brightened by her smile?"

From Doran's first sentence, Grace had been
led to fear that he was about to renew the em-
barrassing subject with which he had so unex-
pectedly closed their last conversation, and any
further explanation of which she was particularly
anxious to avoid. Moved, however, by his wildly
imploring look, and unwilling to mortify him,
by showing any marked distrust of his inten-
tions, she hesitated to depart, and said : —

" My friendship, Pierce, I think you cannot

276 OLDCOURT-

doubt,and I trust I may depend on yours, to secure
me from the pain of listening to the expression
of any sentiment which would be improper for
you to utter, or for me to hear."

*' Oh I fear me not," rephed he, with a me-
lancholy shake of the head ; " once, and once
only, in a moment of frenzy, I forgot myself, my
station, and my duty to my benefactors ; but I
am about to atone for that offence ; and if I
would now avail myself of this unlooked for mo-
ment, it is but to solicit humbly that forgiveness,
the kind assurance of which will tend to restore
to me my own respect, and cheer my heart, when
far — far distant from this long-loved scene."

While uttering the last words of this sentence,
his voice faltered, and he appeared to be almost
choked with the emotion which he evidently
struggled to conceal. Grace, who through her
whole life, had looked upon him almost as a bro-
ther, and was little less affected than himself, re-
plied : —

" Alas, Pierce ! you need no forgiveness from
me. I must ever regard you with kindness —
with esteem — with gratitude let me say, for
services which I shall never forget, — for friend-
ship long tried, faithful and unfailing. But,
with pain I must acknowledge the prudence of
the measure you propose. Yes, Pierce ! after

OLDCOURT. 277

what has passed, for your own sake, — for both
our sakes, it is better we should part."

" I know it well," he mournfully replied ; " I
long have known and felt it : but, 'tis at last
decided. To-morrow's sun will see me on my
way to regions, where a hapless wTetch like me
may hope to find a refuge or a grave."

" Oh ! indulge not such gloomy thoughts, nor
act too hastily," rejoined Grace, with an e:spres-
sion of the most anxious interest. " Confide
your purpose to your friends, who will all be
forward to promote your welfare ; and sure.
Pierce, it is not wise to reject the proftered
services of one "

Her farther progress in the sentence was
checked, by the observance of a ghastly and
ferocious change in the expression of Doran's
countenance. His lips quivered, and, in a voice
of irritated vehemence, he exclamied, —

•■ If you have mercy in you, mention him
not I Poison n.ot this last precious moment of
my life with his detested name ! He is my evil
genius, — and Heaven, in pity grant, that he
prove not yours !"

Grace shuddered as he spoke. " But," he
continued, with a wild and half- distracted air,
" let me not linger thus, till again, perhaps, my
resolution fails, — till I lose all command over

278 OLDCOURT.

my feelings, and once more forget myself in
frenzy !" Then, turning hastily to Grace, who
was struck with terror and surprise at the violence
of his perturbation, he said, —

" You tell me that you pity and forgive — ?"

" I do, I do!" eagerly exclaimed Grace;
" Heaven knows I do ! my heart bleeds for you."

'* Enough !" said he, with firmness; then,
dropping on his knee, — " May all good angels
guard, preserve, and bless the long-loved idol of
this heart !" striking his breast, " that, while
it beats, must cherish your remembrance."
Having said this, he suddenly snatched her
hand, before she was aware of his movement,
kissed it in an agony of passion, and exclaiming,
" Farewell I farewell for ever !" rushed from the
grotto, and was in a moment out of sight.

The hurried and half-frantic manner of Do-
ran's departure had such an eifect upon Grace,
that, for a moment, she was fixed to the spot
where she stood ; and then, overcome by a
sensation of weakness, sunk on the seat of the
gi-otto, almost in a state of insensibility. The
wildness of his look, and the 2:eneral disorder of
his appearance, led her to apprehend that he
suffered under some aberration of mind : and so
impressed was she by this idea, that, rousing
herself in an effort to recover her locomotive

OLDCOURT. 279

powers, she ran with the utmost trepidation to
the castle, afraid to look behind her, lest she
should find that she was pursued.

x\gitated by the embarrassing situation in
which she had been placed, perplexed by doubts
of the propriety of her conduct, with respect to
Doran, — distressed also by the affectionate in-
terest she took in his fate, and not quite free
from a little perturbation on her own account,
the gentle bosom of Grace Oldcourt heaved
under a weight of anxiety, heretofore unex-
ampled in that region of beauty, peace, and
innocence. As soon as she could escape from
observation, she retired to her apartment, and
copiously indulged in woman's soft resource in
all her troubles — tears. To this lachrymose
remedv, the young and gentle part of the fair sex
are ever much addicted, particularly when under
the influence of certain affections of the heart,
which look for sympathy, while they shun dis-
closure.

Certain it is, that our heroine found her
meutal disturbance considerably allayed by the
process ; and having, with her usual devotion,
besought the guardian power of Providence, her
gentle spirit gradually sunk into one of those
kind slumbers, which rarely fail, on such occa-
sions, to rescue vouth and innocence from care.

280 OLDCOURT.

The following morning, when the family as-
sembled at the bveakfast-table. Pierce Doran did
not make his appearance. As he had latterly
absented himself often on different avocations,
connected, as was alleged, with the concerns of
his patron, his absence would not have attracted
particular notice, if Mr. Oldcourt had not
inquired for him; and if his conduct on the
preceding evening, relative to Sir Walter D'Arcy,
had not excited a good deal of surprise, and
some displeasure.

The squire, however, was not one of those
who felt any dissatisfaction with Doran on the
baronet's account ; for the old gentleman was
averse to any arrangement, which w^ould have
the effect of depriving him of an active, faithful,
and dihgent dependant ; and as to poor Doran's
interests, his patron thought, that the flattering
prospect of having " something done for him
one of these days," was quite sufficient to
satisfy his ambition, and compensate all his
services.

On the present occasion, the squire " wondered
that Pierce Doran had left no message ; it was
very odd, and very provoking too, for he wanted
him on particular business.'' The servants were
interrogated, but they knew nothing of his move-
ments. Andrew the butler had let him in late

OLDCOURT. 281

the preceding night ; and he went immediately
to his room, looking, as the old man said, '• more
dead than alive." Andrew also stated that from
the adjoining chamber, which he occupied, he
heard Doran walking to and fro in his apart-
ment for a considerable time, and talking to him-
self, evidently in a disturbed state.

His apartment was now examined ; and, from
the appearance of the bed, it was plain he could
not have slept in it. A pair of saddle-bags lay
upon the floor, half-packed, with a few changes of
dress ; some papers, also, were torn and scattered
about, as if they had been recently written on, but
the fragments were so small, and the characters
so blotted and confused, that nothing could be
made out from them. There remained no doubt
that he had left the house during the night, but
at what time, or in what way, it was impossible
to ascertain.

The greatest apprehensions now prevailed in
the kind-hearted family of Oldcourt, on poor
Doran' s account, and persons were dispatched in
all directions where any tidings of him were hkely
to be obtained. The gloomy state of his mind
for some time back, and the degree of excitability
which, on several occasions, he had recently mani-
fested, suggested a suspicion that he might have
meditated an attempt on his own life.

282 OLDCOURT.

Grace Oldcourt, in particular, was fully im-
pressed with this idea, from the state of disorder
in which he had left the grotto on the evening
before ; and so agitated did she appear, at the sup-
position that his desperation might have led him
to such an extremity, that Mrs. Oldcourt's alarm
took a different direction, and she began to fear
that the interest her daughter seemed to take in
Doran's fate, was warmer than the relation in
which he stood to the family, could either account
for or justify.

Grace, however, immediately removed her
mother's apprehensions, by a full disclosure in
private, of what had lately occurred between her
and Doran, together with the motives of con-
sideration for that unhappy young man, which
actuated her in preserving silence on the subject,
until his departure from the castle, which she
understood to have been his immediate purpose.

Mrs. Oldcourt commended the prudent con-
duct of her darling ; severely censured her own
folly, in having ever brought Doran into the
castle, on so familiar a footing, and wondered how
she could have been so blind to consequences,
as not to have foreseen, that no young man
could live under the same roof with her dear
Grace, without being sensible of her merits.

As Doran had not so far violated the dutv of

OLDCOURT. 283

his station, or abused the privileges which had
been allowed him, as to assume the character
of a lover to her daughter, she felt the greatest
commiseration for him ; and she and Grace, as
the most prudent course to be adopted, under
all the circumstances, and particularly, con-
sidering the rumour which had reached Mrs,
Oldcourt's ear, and which has been before alluded
to, determined to observe the strictest silence
on the subject of poor Doran's unfortunate
passion, even to the members of their own
family. Making it known, they felt, could only
have the effect of injuring him with his friends,
and might give rise to ill-natured remarks on
the imprudence of admitting a person taken
from so humble a situation in hfe, to an in-
timacy from which such a result ought to have
been anticipated.

The conference between the mother and
daughter, was here interrupted by the arrival
at the castle of Fanny Doran, with some in-
telligence of her brother. The poor girl, in the
greatest state of distress, desired to be admitted
to Mrs. Oldcourt ; and from her account, amidst
tears, sobs, and lamentations, it appeared, that
about six o'clock that morning, the unfortunate
young man had been carried by one of Mr.
Oldcourt's woodmen and an assistant to old

284 OLDCOURT.

Doran's cottage, in such a state of laceration
and disorder, as left no hope of his life.

According to the woodman's report, when going
to his work that morning, in a plantation almost
a mile from the castle, his attention was attracted,
by finding a shoe in an unfrequented track, and
the fellow to it a little farther on. It was evi-
dent they had been recently worn. Proceeding
on his way, the woodman perceived, lying in a
ditch, a hat, which, on examination, proved to
have the name of Doran written in it.

The man w^as immediately struck with an ap-
prehension that poor Doran, who was a general
favourite with the working people, had been
robbed, and probably murdered by some nightly
depredators ; and he and his assistant commenced
a search for the body.

After traversing a considerable part of the
wood, and tracing the footsteps of some person
who seemed to have forced his progrees in a
strange zig-zag direction, through all sorts of
obstructions, that briar, brake, or hedge could
interpose in his course, they, at length, discovered
poor Doran lying in the midst of a close-planted
thicket, quite exhausted, his clothes almost torn
from his back ; his face, hands, legs, and feet,
lacerated and bleeding, but exhibiting no other
wounds or marks of violence than such as might

OLDCOURT. 2S5

be supposed to result from a frantic attempt to
rush headlong forward, in such a course as he
appeared to have pursued.

Though evidently deranged, he recognised the
woodman ; declared he was on his way to Galway,
and requested to be carried there as quickly as
possible.

As far as could be collected from his incohe-
rent expressions, it seemed, that after retiring to
his room, as related by the old butler, the dis-
order of his mind increased to such a degree, that
full of his engagement with Lieutenant Tiffin, he
had, in the middle of the night, rushed from the
castle, in a state of frenzy, making his way
through hedge and ditch, and briar, and brush-
wood ; till quite overcome by his exertions, and
unable to penetrate farther, he sunk exhausted on
the spot where he w^as discovered.

When the woodmen proposed to take him
home to the castle, he became quite outrageous ;
threatened them with vengeance if they attempted
it ; and his fury seemed to restore his strength to
such a degree, that without using great violence,
they could not remove him from the wood.

Becoming a little calm again, on their assur-
ance that he should not be taken to the castle, he
demanded, entreated, and supplicated, that he

286 OLDCOURT.

might be carried to Galway, where he said he had
business of the most urgent necessity ; but after
endeavouring to convince him, that from the dis-
tance, it was impossible they could comply with his
wish, they at length succeeded in quieting him so far
that he allowed himself to be removed to his
father's cottage.

By the time he arrived there, however, the
disorder of his body, co-operating with that of his
mind, produced a raging fever, the paroxysms of
which became so violent, that before his sister
left him, he was obliged to be tied down in his bed.

Poor Doran's situation, and the extraordinary
circumstances in which he was discovered, excited
equal sympathy and surprise at the castle; but
Grace was doubly shocked by the occurrence; for,
independent of her long friendship for him, she
could not but regard herself as the principal,
though involuntary cause of the disorder, which
was likely to be attended by such a distressing
result.

The old squire angrily declared " they had set
the boy mad among them ; that he was as good a
lad as ever was born until they blew^ his brains
out with their nonsense about independence, and
seeing the world ; for his part, he wondered what
had come over them all ; and it was very odd they

OLDCOURT. 287

could not let the poor fellow remain quiet where
he was so well off,' and of more use to him than
any of them."

He insisted that Doran should be immediately-
brought back to the castle, where proper care
could be taken of him ; but this was quite out of
the question, as he could not be moved from his
bed, without danger to himself, and to those about
him. Mrs. Oldcourt lost no time in repair-
ing to old Doran' s cottage, with the Family Phy-
sician in her pocket, and ah the Galenic auxil-
liaries her materia medica could supply. The case,
however, was so serious, that she condescended
to require the assistance of Mr. Phelim M'Cabe;
but that sturdy practitioner, who was not a little
piqued by Mrs. Oldcourt's frequent interference
in his province, refused to join in consultation
with his fair rival ; and when admitted to the pa-
tient, pronounced, with the natural shrewdness
which, in him, supphed the place of science, that
the young man's disease was more of the mind
than the body, and that there was no immediate
danger of his life.

In his delirium, poor Doran but too plainly in -
dicated the preponderating idea of his mind ; and
to prevent the effect of his ravings in spreading
the knowledge of his unhappy attachment, Mrs.
Oldcourt gave strict orders that, as essential to his

288 OLDCOURT.

cure, no person whatever should be permitted to
approach the sufferer but by her authority, or
that of Mr. M'Cabe ; whose co-operation so far,
she secured by a marked deference to his skill,
and a much more liberal fee than was usual for
him, to receive, in the ordinary course of his
practice.

The contusions and lacerations which at first
appeared so formidable, and so much disfigured
the unfortunate young man, were found to be of
no serious consequence. A brain fever, how-
ever, confined him to his bed for a fortnight ;
and when the bodily disease was completely
removed, the mental malady continued with
such unabated violence, that it was found neces-
sary to place him under vigilant superintendence ;
and, by the kindness of the Oldcourt family, who
defrayed all the expenses, he was consigned to
the care of a medical practitioner at Gal way, w4io
kept an establishment for the reception of per-
sons aifiicted with diseases of the mind : and
there, for the present, w^e must leave Pierce
Doran, to attend on the other personages of our
history.

OLDCOURT. 289

CHAPTER XVII.

The events narrated in the last chapter, cast
a considerable gloom over the hearts and the
hospitalities of the Oldcourt family. Pierce Do-
ran had been so long an inmate of the castle,
and was such a general favourite with its inhabit-
ants, that every individual of the establishment,
from the squire himself, down to the humblest
retainer of the kitchen, sympathized in his situa-
tion, and regretted his fate. *

That Grace Oldcourt was more affected by
the calamity which had fallen upon her early
friend, than any other member of the family,
might be accounted for, from the circumstances,
already known to the reader, which connected
her with his unfortunate malady. Though
naturally of a most cheerful disposition, neither
the remonstrances of her mother, nor the
gallant assiduities of such an admirer as Sir

VOL. III. O

290 OLDCOURT.

Walter D'Arcy, could re-animate her to her usual
vivacity, until an account arrived that Doran's
complaint had taken a favourable turn, and that
there was every prospect of a final cure.

The baronet, in his visits to the castle, was, at
first, somewhat uneasy on observing, that the
fair object of his homage, suffered under a de-
pression of spirits, which he was disposed to
think rather more than commensurate to the
occasion ; and some of his former suspicions
began to revive. But Grace expressed herself,
on the subject of poor Doran, with such a calm,
open, artless simphcity, as speedily convinced
him that her feelings were influenced only by
her natural benevolence and kindness of heart.

Neai-ly three months had passed off rapidly,
subsequent to the occurrences above stated ; and
the close of the summer found Sir Walter D'Arcy
more enamoured than ever^ — the avowed and ac-
cepted lover of the beautiful Grace Oldcourt.
During this period, the baronet had diUgently
cultivated his suit, and so effectually established
himself in the good opinion of her whole family,
that Grace, under the observation of those to
whose sanction she looked, in every action of
her life, allow'ed the favourable sentiments with
which D'Arcy had early inspired her, to ripen
into a sincere and ardent attachment.

OLDCOURT. 291

Her lover had not only been fortunate in
gaining the affections of his mistress, but he
was equally successful in another point, which,
at first, he was rather disposed to think the
more difficult achievement of the two. He had
overcome his own prejudices against matrimony ;
all his doubts and difficulties were dissipated by
the smiles of his idol — the dories of gallantry
began to lose their lustre in his eye, and to his
own surprise, his imagination ran continually
upon visions of connubial love and domestic
felicity.

The habits of society are in Ireland more easy
and familiar than in England. The intercourse
between young people of different sexes, is,
therefore, more free and unrestrained ; a young
man may there talk, and walk, and ride, and
dance with a young lady, without being set down
as her lover, by all their acquaintance, or having
a father or a brother, with an expostulating as-
pect, coming to inquire his intentions, before he
has had time to ascertain them him^self.

From this difference of manners, you have, in
Ireland, some chance of being acquainted with
your wife before you marry her, and may form
a tolerable guess, as to her temper, taste, and
disposition, before you commit yourself for better.

292 OLDCOURT.

for worse, in bonds which can be dissolved only
by death or disgrace.

D'Arcy had availed himself of the privilege
which his intimacy in the Oldcourt family allowed
him in this respect ; and though captivated from
the first, had taken time for deliberate observation,
before he formally disclosed his passion or his
pretensions. To Barry Oldcourt he particularly
attached himself; and the latter, from the mili-
tary turn of his mind, and a similarity of spirit
and character, was delighted with D'Arcy as a
companion, and valued him highly as a friend.

As the baronet's quarters at Galway were
rather too distant to admit of his returning at
night after a dinner visit, without some incon-
venience ; and as Mrs. Oldcourt's dehcacy made
her more reluctant to lodge him in the castle, in
proportion as she became more desirous to pro-
mote a match, which she thought in every respect
so eligible for her daughter, our hero procured a
comfortable little apartment at the '' Goat's Head,"
in the village ; and there he occasionally took up
his residence for three or four days at a time, when
the pleasures of hunting, fishing, and shooting,
were combined with the far more interesting
pursuits which he was anxious to carry on at
the castle.

OLDCOURT. 293

The progress of a courtship which has not
been obstructed by any extraordinary events, or
apparently insurmountable difficulties, is not a
very favourable subject for narration. The lan-
guage of lovers is not easily translated into any
ordinary form of prose ; and even in poetry, it
requires to be interrupted occasionally by inci-
dent, and varied by a recurrence to less impas-
sioned topics of discourse, to prevent its be-
coming over-strained, monotonous, or mawkish.
I shall not, therefore, enter into any details of
the process by which D'Arcy and his mistress
were entangled in Cupid's net, nor describe how
they arrived at such a mutual understanding of
each others sentiments, as to make it clear to
them both, that their happiness depended on
their union.

Certain it is, that a matrimonial result had
been sufficiently long in the contemplation of
all parties, to be looked upon as a highly desirable
object, and expected as a matter of course ; and
when the baronet's rapturous vows of eternal
devotion had extorted from his mistress a
blushing reference to her father, the proposals of
our hero were most flatteringly received, by every
member of the Oldcourt family.

The squire was, indeed, particularly pleased ;
as, independent of the satisfaction which he de-

294 OLDCOURT.

rived from the prospect of so advantageous a
settlement for his daughter, D'Arcy, by dis-
claiming all pecuniary views, at once set the old
gentleman at his ease, on a point which had
often made him consider Grace's marriage, as a
very embarrassing subject of discussion.

The baronet was too much enamoured to be
influenced by mercenary considerations ; and
certainly, if ever lover were justified in disre-
garding them, the admirer of Grace Oldcourt
might reasonably plead her manifold perfections
as an ample apology for his disinterestedness.

Mrs. Oldcourt was as delighted as an affec-
tionate mother could be, who saw the most
flattering visions she had ever formed of her
child's happiness about to be reahsed. On the
important subject of religion, also, which had
always been a drawback on her most agreeable
speculations with regard to D'Arcy, she ob-
tained much more satisfaction than she expected ;
for he assured her, and indeed wdth great truth,
that the only religious impressions he had ever
received, were those of the Catholic faith.
D'Arcy, as before observed, had never, like his
father, made any formal renunciation of popery,
and all his early prejudices were in favour of the
ancient creed. He had been satisfied to pass in
the world as a member of the established church.

OLDCOURT. 295

because Protestantism was the peculiar modifi-
cation of Christianity, prevalent amongst the
class of society in which he moved ; and he
attached no other importance to the distinction,
than as it might be considered favourable to his
views in life.

D'Arcy, indeed, had never seriously reflected
on the subject, till his succession to the title and
property of his family rendered it necessary for
him to visit Killorgan Hall. There, when
amongst his own tenants, he found himself an
object of suspicion and dislike, — when, on his
return to the seat of his ancestors, instead of
being received with affection and enthusiasm as
the chief of his race, he saw that he was regarded
rather as an enemy and an apostate, — the loss of
that respect and attachment, which the heads of
ancient families in Ireland, who have remained
firm to their faith and their country, have ever
considered as the most valuable part of their in-
heritance, affected him most deeply ; and as he
had no pious predilections, to sustain the zeal, or
stimulate the rancour of the convert, he bitterly
deplored the pohcy which had prompted his
father to cast away the hearts of his dependants,
and stain the long tried fidehty of the D'Arcy' s,
without any compensation, religious or political

296 OLDCOURT.

which could be considered adequate to such a
sacrifice.

So strongly, indeed, had he been then im-
pressed, by what he thought the discredit of hav-
ing, from worldly motives, deserted the ancient
creed of his country, that nothing but his love
of a military life, and his unwillingness to en-
counter the jeers of his fashionable friends, pre-
vented his open profession of the Cathohc faith.

His views, however, were now altered ; the
lover had superseded the soldier ; his ambition to
mingle again in miUtary scenes, and brilliant
circles, had subsided in the contemplation of
more tranquil prospects of happiness ; in Grace
Oldcourt, all his hopes and joys were now cen-
tered ; and she w^as a rich treasure, which his ex-
perience of fashionable life made him unwilling
to expose to the piracies of those unprincipled
rovers, who infest the navigation of the great world.

He was quite sincere, therefore, when he as-
sured Mrs. Oldcourt that he considered himself
a Catholic ; and that when once blessed in the
possession of her daughter, he would resign the
military profession, retire to the mansion of his
ancestors, and endeavour to reinstate himself in
the affections of his tenants and dependants, by
the undisguised resumption of that faith which he

OLDCOURT. 297

considered as connected with the antiquity of
his descent, and as most becoming the honour of
his family.

Even the excellect Father Clancy, who loved
his fair pupil with the affection of a parent, and
was zealous equally for her spiritual and tempo-
ral welfare, could see no objection to the pro-
posed union. The liberal sentiments of D'Arcy,
and his polite and respectful deportment towards
the good priest, had early won the old man's fa-
four ; and the subsequent assurance which he re-
ceived, of the baronet's real sentiments with re-
spect to religion, had so completely satisfied him
on the subject, that he congratulated Grace on
her own prospects, and declared he considered
her fortunate in being made an instrument to
confirm Sir Walter D'Arcy in his good inten-
tions.

By the express desire of the Oldcourt family,
Sir Walter communicated to his mother and sis-
ter, his matrimonial views, and sohcited their
sanction, which he had no difficulty in obtaining ;
for though residing in a distant county, they
were acquainted with the respectability of the
house of Oldcourt ; and the dearest wish of their
hearts, was to see the baronet united to a good
Catholic, whose influence, they hoped, might fa-
vourably affect his religious sentiments,
o 2

298 OLDCOURT.

The squire and Mrs. Oldcourt forwarded a
pressing invitation to Lady D'Arcy and her
daughter, to spend some time at the castle, and
be present at the ceremony, which was to be so
interesting to both famihes ; but the infirm state
of the dowager's health, rendered her unequal to
the journey.

It may be supposed, that a nuptial negociation,
upon which the contracting parties and their al-
lies had entered with such a cordial spirit of agree-
ment, was speedily brought to a favourable issue.
D'Arcy, always generous in pecuniary matters,
was magnificent in his settlements, and formed a
scale of matrimonial expenditure, which had but
little prudential reference to the various incum-
brances upon his estate.

The period of her marriage is the great and im-
portant epocha of a woman's life. It is then,
that she seals her fate — that the die is cast, upon
which her happiness or misery depends. Of all
social compacts, matrimony seems to be that in
which there is the least reciprocity of privilege,
and in which the principle that "might consti-
tutes right," is the most openly avowed. The
laws, the habits, and the prejudices of society, are
all so unfavourable to the wife, that if the husband
be disposed to act the tyrant, he can do it with
impunity ; and if he should be unwilling to incur

OLDCOURT. 299

the odium of any open and public act of oppres-
sion, he may persecute his victim by petty vexa-
tions, and so harrass her by nondescript annoy-
ances, that her spirit may droop through hfe in
unregarded wretchedness, without having any
available ground for redress, or a generally recog-
nised pretext even for complaint.

What an event of awful interest to an affec-
tionate parent, is the marriage of a favourite
daughter, even under the most flattering aus-
pices!

How the heart sinks under the conflict ot
opposite emotions, when you are about to
part with the darling object of your cares —
the loved solace of your toils, your troubles, and
your disappointments — whose opening beauties
you have contemplated with such delight — whose
accomplishments you have cultivated with so
much assiduity, and displayed v.ith such exulta-
tion— when you are ^lled upon to resign her,
whose endearments have entwined her round
your heart with a cling of affection that death
alone can loosen or dissever — all innocent
as she is — amiable, and unsuspecting, into
the hands of a comparative stranger — a man
with whom, perhaps, you have not had six
months' acquaintance — for the qualities of whose

300 OLDCOURT.

temper and disposition, you in most cases, can
have no sufficient security — who may have
masked the worst of passions under the most
specious manners, and from the pohte, ardent,
and devoted lover, may be transformed at once to
the cold, sullen, and selfish husban J — uncongenial
in his taste, unsympathising in his feelings, and
unprincipled in all his proceedings. To those who
know how the gentle spirit may be wounded by
unkindness — w^ho are aware how effectually the
cup of life may be embittered by daily infusions
of habitual moroseness, and domestic discontent,
the hazard is dreadful; and, like all great hazards,
to be supported with firmness, it must be en-
countered without reflection.

To few parents could these considerations pre-
sent themselves, with more force, than to Mrs.
Oldcourt. Grace was the darling of her heart.
To see her, in the maternal sense of the phrase,
" well settled," had been the prime object of her
mother's solicitude, from the first moment that
Grace had attained to the marriageable age of
seventeen ; and now that the period approached,
when the fond parent's wish was likely to be
gratified to an extent beyond her most sanguine
expectations, all the hazards of matrimony on the
female side, of which she had had, herself, no

OLDCOURT. 301

small experience, rose up in formidable array
before her.

She trembled at the thought of parting with
her child ; and, like an April day, the sunshine
of her joy and exultation was frequently overcast
with clouds of apprehension, and chequered by
show-ers of tears.

Mr. Oldcourt w^as not a man to refine much
upon such matters. Like most of his country-
men, he had a high idea of the prerogatives of a
husband ; and, as long as a w^ife was respectably
maintained in that class of society to which she
belonged, and was allowed to manage her own
department — the household — he considered her
as having no cause to complain, however she
might be otherwise wounded by indifference, or
mortified by neglect.

D'Arcy's disregard of fortune made him a
most eligible son-in-law for the squire ; and
though the latter was fond and proud of his
daughter, his paternal sensibilities were not
wrought up to any very agonizing solicitude about
her happiness ; nor w'as his regret at the pros-
pect of losing her society, manifested by any
more pathetic lamentation than an occasional
remark, that " he wondered how they should get
on without Grace ; for he was sure the castle
would be very dull when she left it."

302 OLDCOURT.

Grace, herself, though ardently attached to the
baronet, and regarding him as an example of
every thing which her imagination had depicted,
or her heart could desire, contemplated the pro-
posed change in her condition, with a feeling of
anxious and uneasy joy, in which it was difficult
to say whether pain or pleasure predominated ;
the thought of leaving her family pressed so hea-
vily upon her spirits.

Although the cheerful serenity of her temper,
secured her from the dullness of ideal discon-
tents, and preserved her from the gloom of
superstition, she had a turn for piety, which
almost amounted to enthusiasm ; and, previous
to her acquaintance w^ith D'Arcy, observing in
the sphere to which she w^as confined, no con-
genial spirit, to whom she could confidently
intrust the guidance of her course, she had
often contemplated a religious life, as a happy
retreat from the cares of the world, and a
safe asylum, where virtue and innocence might
hope for tranquillity and peace. But the attrac-
tions and attentions of the baronet, opened to
her admiring eye those prospects of connubial
felicity which she had begun to consider only as
visionary speculations, and society was preferred
to seclusion.

The approaching event, however, was still re-

OLDCOURT. 303

garded by her as possessing a character of awful
interest, with which a marriage so sanctioned is
rarely invested, at least in the minds of the par-
ties principally concerned ; and a circumstance
which Grace thought particularly unlucky at the
lime, contributed to increase anxiety to appre-
hension.

Pierce Doran, by the judicious treatment of
the medical practitioner, under whose care he
had been placed at Galway, was gradually re-
stored to the full possession of his faculties. A
settled melancholy, however, continued to depress
him, which nothing appeared to dissipate. The
benevolent physician, who, in the liberal spirit of
his profession, was generally as anxious to pro-
mote the happiness, as to restore the health of
his patients, became interested for him ; and, on
being made acquainted with his situation, think-
ing that a complete change of scene would be his
best remedy, procured for him an opportunity of
going out to India, in the capacity of what is
called a free mariner.

Doran seemed gladly and gratefully to accept
the proffered appointment; and being anxious to
see his father and sister before his departure, he
arrived at the farm-house a few days before the
time which had been fixed for Grace Oldcourt's
marriage with the baronet.

304 OLDCOURT.

Grace, who continued to take the warmest
interest in Doran's welfare, and had heard with
great satisfaction of his recovery, and purposed
voyage to the East, was now seriously grieved to
learn, that he had returned to the neighbourhood
of the castle, at a moment which must be most
distressing to his feehngs, if not injurious to the
recently restored tranquillity of his mind.

She could not avoid, also, some lively appre-
hensions on another account : recollecting the
strong enmity which Doran had conceived, and
so emphatically expressed towards D'Arcy, she
felt a degree of anxiety approaching to alarm, at
the possibility of some hostile collision between
them ; for the baronet was, at this time, quar-
tered at his favourite little inn in the village ; a
residence which he had occasionally used for a
few days at a time, during the last three months,
to which he seemed partial, and which was situ-
ated exactly opposite the cottage inhabited by old
Doran.

Grace's uneasiness on this subject increased so
much, that she communicated her fears to her
mother ; and Mrs. Oldcourt so far participated in
her daughter's impression, that without assigning
her reasons for it, she proposed to the baronet to
remove to the castle for the few days that were
to intervene before the performance of the mar-

OLDCOURT. 305

riage ceremony. This arrangement, however, the
baronet respectfully declined, on the ground that
for so short a time, it would be inconvenient to
make the change.

All the usual preliminaries having been ad-
justed— the parchments signed and sealed, and
the paraphernalia of the bride prepared under
the inspection of Mrs. Oldcourt and Miss Matty
Malone, the ensuing Sunday was fixed on for the
wedding-day.

In Ireland, it v-'^s usual amongst Roman Ca-
tholics, to celebrate their marriages privately, in
the presence only of such friends as were invited
to attend them. Father Clancy, however, from
motives of piety, was opposed to this practice; justly
conceiving that a ceremony so important to the
interests of society, as well as to those of the
parties immediately concerned in it, should be
invested with every solemnity, which it could de-
rive from the sacred character of a church, or
which the influence of religious associations could
confer upon it.

He, therefore, required that the nuptials of his
favourite pupil should take place in the chapel of
Oldcourt ; and he was too much respected by
the squire and his family, not to have his wish at-
tended to, on an occasion when it seemed pe-

306 OLDCOURT.

culiarly within his province to exercise a legiti-
mate influence.

This arrangement, however, appeared to be
by no means agreeable to the baronet ; but he
found that the rehgious feelings of Mrs. Oldcourt
and the good pastor, were not to be shaken by such
representations as his politeness or his prudence
allowed him to make on the subject ; and he
was, though with marked reluctance, obliged to
submit.

As the chapel of Oldcourt, however, was not
an appropriate scene for a splendid ceremonial ;
and as the sensitive delicacy of the intended
bride, made her shrink from all unnecessary
publicity on the occasion, it was agreed, that as
little attention as possible should be attracted
to the wedding : that the parties should rem.ain
in the chapel till the congregation had dispersed
after the celebration of mass, and that Father
Clancy should then perform the ceremony at the
altar, in the presence only of the family, and
the servants of the establishment.

As the day approached, to which Mrs. Old-
court had so long looked forward with delight,
and which Grace herself considered as the com-
mencement of a new course of existence, in
"which she might hope for as much happiness as

OLDCOURT. 307

sublunary affairs allow, the anxiety and agitation
of our heroine increased to an extent, which no
ordinary consideration of the circumstances in
which she w^as placed, could account for even to
herself.

A vague and undefined impression of alarm
hung upon her mind, which she tried in vain to
shake off, and which she found, by the constant
recurrence of the same idea, to be invariably
connected with Pierce Doran. His words in
the grotto, when he declared that D'Arcy was
" his evil genius," and might also prove hers,
arose to her recollection with a kind of ominous
importance. She feared that some return of
Doran's derangement might endanger the ba-
ronet's life, or produce some new catastrophe,
calamitous to Doran himself, or others.

What contributed also to strengthen her appre-
hensions, was an idea which she had conceived
that D'Arcy was not in his usual good spirits ;
as, though all admiration and devotion to her,
he seeemed occasionally thoughtful and absent. .

Under the influence of these impressions,
Grace earnestly besought her mother to post-
pone the wedding for a week, by w^hich time
Doran would have left their nei2;hbourhood, and
one great source of her uneasiness would be

308 OLDCOURT.

thereby removed. But Mrs. Oldcourt was too
affectionately anxious to salute her darling Grace
as Lady D'Arcy, to acquiesce easily in such a
proposition. She, therefore, only laughed at her
fanciful apprehensions ; and when Grace ventured
to hint to the baronet her w-isli for delay, the
intimation evidently disconcerted him, more than
even a lover's eagerness could justify; and ex-
cited in him a degree of dissatisfaction, which it
cost his politeness an effort to conceal. With
that amiability, therefore, which ever induced
her to prefer the inclination of her friends to her
own, Grace consented to abide by the arrange-
ment which had been originally determined on.

OLDCOURT. 309

CHAPTER XVIII.

On a fine Sunday morning, in the picturesque
month of October, after a night spent between
agitated vigils and disturbed skmibers, Grace
Oldcourt started from her pillow almost as early
as the dawn, and looking much more beautiful
than Aurora herself, at least, if that mythological
personage has been faithfully represented to us
by the pencil of Guido.

The recollection of the day, and the important
event which was to distinguish it in the annals
of the Oldcourt family, rushed upon her mind
the moment she awoke, and her heart throbbed
with the conflicting emotions which her situ-
ation excited.

Her dreams, indeed, had not been much cal-
culated to tranquillize her feelings ; for busy
fancy, during sleep, had conjured up a thousand
forms of terror and confusion, which not only

310 OLDCOURT.

disturbed her repose, but depressed her spirits
in proportion as they were more or less, com-
bined, however incongruously, with the materials
of her waking apprehensions.

The idea of leaving for ever, the home of her
hitherto happy and innocent life, and all the
dear relatives which that home contained, melted
her to tears. Every well-known object to which
she turned her eye, appeared to acquire a new
interest in her estimation ; and she looked at
each, as if she saw^ it for the last time. She felt
like a timid traveller, about to desert the haven
of safety and repose, to enter upon a long and
perilous voyage, amongst the rocks and tempests
of unknown seas, without any support against
the dangers and difficulties of the adventure, but
in the affectionate fidelity and cheering co-opera-
tion of the loved companion, for whose sake it
is undertaken.

Again, Pierce Doran and his mysterious words,
at her last interview with him, haunted her
imagination ; and some unaccountable and un-
defined idea of danger, through his agency, con-
tinued to aggravate her anxiety, and increase her
regret, that he should have revisited the neigh-
bourhood at such a moment.

Oppressed by these reflections, after com-
pleting her simple toilette arrangement, she had

OLDCOURT. 311

sunk despondingly into a chair, her eyes bearing
testimony to the melancholy character of her
morning meditations, when Mrs. Oldcourt en-
tered her room.

The aspect of the kind-hearted parent showed
plainly, how much her feelings sympathised w^ith
those of her daughter. The mother, however,
affected to wear a cheerful look. She tenderly
kissed her darling, without appearing to notice
the tears that flowed down Grace's cheeks ; and,
in a faltering voice, told her, she came thus
early, to congratulate her on the happy arrival
of her wedding-day. The effort, however, was
too great, — the same thought seemed, at the
same time, to swell their bosoms to bursting, —
they looked at each other for a moment ; and, in an
agony of emotion, rushed into each other's arms.
" Oh, my child, my child !" exclaimed the
weeping parent ; " must I then lose you ? —
Must my heart's treasure be taken from me
for hfe ! — and is it for this sad hour, that I
have longed, and looked, and laboured, with
such eagerness of hope and joy? — Desolate will
be to me this house, and dreary to the mo-
ther's heart, when my doating eyes shall look
round in vain for her whose smile was glad-
ness— when my ear shall watch in vain for
the sound of that sweet voice, that ever has

312 OLDCOURT.

been music to my soul ! — But/' endeavouring to
calm her agitation, "you will be happy, my child ;
that thought must console me ; and Heaven pour
its choicest blessings on my darling's head !"

Overpowered by her feelings, Grace could only
sob aloud, and articulate : " My dear, dear mo-
ther I" and again they were locked in each other's
embrace.

^Yhen the violence of their emotion had
somewhat subsided, they, by a mutual exertion,
endeavoured to turn their thoughts to the more
cheering contemplations of the day ; and, sum-
moning up as much composure as possible, de-
scended to the breakfast-room. But though all
parties agreed in calling it a happy morning, it
was evidently a struggle to be gay through the
whole family.

The squire " did not know what he should do
without his mad- cap, Grace, to drive away the
blue-devils of an evening, when he had not his
friends about him ; " and a tear stood in the old
man's eye, " albeit unused to the melting mood,"
as the affectionate girl clung weeping on his neck.

Even the young men felt the influence of the
moment ; and the domestics of the establishment
moved about, as if they also shared in the
general loss the castle was about to sustain in
the departure of her, whose goodness, gentle-

OLDCOURT. 313

ness, and generosity, had made her beloved by
rich and poor.

Miss Matty Malone was the only person who
seemed to enjoy the pleasures of a wedding-day.
She, however, was all bustle and importance ;
manifesting, by a loquacious administration of
those domestic functions, which Mrs. Oldcourt's
agitated state of mind disqualified her for per-
forming, that excitement and satisfaction, which
ancient maidens so disinterestedly display, in
forwarding the marriage preparations of their
friends.

In a sort of feverish fluctuation, between grief
and gladness, — smiles faintly gleaming through
tears, and the tremulous voice of congratulation
faltering in the ill-suppressed sob of sorrow,
the hours passed away, until the baronet arrived,
to accompany his bride and the family to the
chapel.

Manifesting towards Grace all the attentions
of the most ardent lover, he endeavoured to
rally the w^hole party, and divert the sensibility
of their feelings from those depressing con-
siderations, which seemed so inappropriate to
a day, w^hich he " hoped and trusted, they had
all looked forward to as a day of joy."

But it was evident that D'Arcy himself was
disturbed. A cloud seemed occasionally to ga-

VOL, III. p

314 OLDCOURT.

tlier on his brow, and there was a restlessness of
manner about him, which indicated a mind not
perfectly at ease. The change, however, from
his usual gay and gallant demeanour, appeared
natural enough in a man who was just about to
enter into so solemn an engagement, as that
which may be said to fetter him for life.

As the fashion did not then prevail, which
requires the happy pair, as soon as the indissolu-
ble knot is tied, to rattle off from the church door
in a chaise and four, to spend the honey-moon
in unmolested matrimonial raptures, on a tour
of tete-a-tete privacy — a trip to a watering-place,
or a distant family mansion, the baronet and
his bride were to return, after the ceremony, to
the castle; where Doctor Bowen, Father Clancy,
and a few intimate friends, were invited to assist
in the celebration of a wedding-dinner ; and the
following day. Lady D'Arcy, accompanied by
her brother Barry, was to proceed with her
husband to Killorgan Hall.

The party having arrived at the humble tem-
ple which has been described in the early part of
this work, they took their places, as usual, in
the family pew. With palpitating heart, and
trembling steps — pale, anxious, and agitated,
Grace, led by her eldest brother, made her way
through the rustic congregation, as they res-

OLDCCURT. 315

pectfully opened for her a passage to her seat.
Her veil had hitherto concealed her emotion ;
but as from her position in the pew, she com -
manded the whole chape), she partially raised it,
and threw a hasty and apprehensive glance
around her, in search of one from whom her
fears, —

"StiJl entertained strange augury of ill."

But Pierce Doran was not to be discovered ; nor
did his father or sister appear in their usual places.

The baronet, also, seemed to cast an inquiring
eye upon the dense mass of people who occupied
the body of the chapel. He had never before
attended the celebration of mass with the family ;
but, as strangers were often accommodated in
Mr. Oldcourt's pew, D'Arcy's appearance there
excited no surprise.

Father Clancy now proceeded with the ser-
vice, in the course of which, he dehvered a
short, solemn, and impressive address, on the
exemplary fulfilment of our domestic duties ;
purposely avoiding any palpable reference to the
event upon which he was about to confer
the sanction of the church. The parties con-
cerned, however, made that application of his
words to their own peculiar circumstances.

316 OLDCOURT.

which a consciousness of the good priest's pious
intentions prescribed.

All the individuals of the family were more or
less affected by the simple eloquence of the
preacher; and Grace, her mother, and Miss
Matty Malone, were dissolved in tears.

The congregation having separated after the
benediction. Father Clancy motioned that he was
ready to proceed with the marriage ceremony ;
and the Oldcourt party advanced to the altar,
taking their station within the railing which en-
closed it from the open part of the chapel.

Grace, covered with confusion, and trembhng
in every limb, was supported to her place by
D'Arcy and her brother Barry. Observing her
trepidation, the baronet, in a Iovn- voice, said : —

" My dear Grace I if you would not have me
suspect that you regret the blessing which you
are about to bestow upon me, sustain yourself
with firmness for a few moments. But I must
say it was cruel, because unnecessary, thus to
expose your delicacy here."

Grace, with a faint smile of affection, and a
gentle pressure of the hand, falteringly replied : —

" Oh, D'Arcy ! mistake not those feeling*
which I find it impossible to repress ; nor blame a
course that religion and duty have alike dictated."

OLDCOURT. 317

Then, with a sweet assurance of confidence and
love, she added: " I trust I shall behave better
presently."

Notwithstanding the precautions taken to keep
the ceremony as private as possible, the persons
remaining in the chapel appeared to form a con-
siderable n'ojnber ; as, in addition to the clergy-
man and his attendants, the Oldcourt party, and
their whole establishment, several of the most
respectable tenants had solicited permission to be
present, with their famihes, at the marriage of
the daughter of their landlord and patron.

A chair was placed, within the railing of the
altar, for Mr. Oldcourt, ^vho suffered much from
the gout ; and Barry, the eldest son, was ap-
pointed to give the bride away.

The doors having been closed, to prevent the
further intrusion of strangers, and the chapel
much darkened in consequence, the parties were
arranged for the commencement of the cere-
mony, before any attention had been directed to
two persons, a man and a woman, who had re-
mained after the service, and were now discovered
in the most obscure corner of the transverse part
of the edifice.

The male figure, muffled in a loose great coat,
his face half- concealed by a coloured handker-
chief, stood with arms folded, his head bent upon

318 OLDCOURT.

«

his breast, leaning against the wall of the chapel.
The woman, whose face and figure were entirely
hid from observation by her position, and a large
cloak, similar to the mantle commonly worn by
the humbler class of females in Ireland, the hood
of which was drawn os^er, and completely enve-
loped her head, remained upon her knees, appa-
rently regardless of the scene before her, and
engaged in the most fervent devotion.

The baronet, whose restless eye had first
glanced upon the strangers, evinced a slight
change of countenance, and regarded them with a
look which expressed uneasiness and dissatisfac-
tion. After a pause, as of deliberation, he, in an
under tone, suggested to Father Clancy, that as
these persons had evidently no connexion with
any of those who were present by permission,
and as they were only indulging an idle curiosity,
it would be proper to remove them from the
chapel.

The clergyman having directed his eye to the
intruders, observed to the baronet, in the same
low voice, " that the poor people seemed to be
occupied in some act of devotion ; and he could
not think of thrusting them forth from the
house of God, while he was himself engaged
there in the performance of any religious func-
tion."

OLDCOURT. 319

The short communication between the priest
and D'Arcy attracted the attention of Grace,
who, turning her head, observed the individuals
who had occasioned it ; and, although she could
not recognise them as persons whom she had
ever seen before, yet the same unaccountable
impression of alarm, which had recently so
much annoyed her, struck again upon her heart,
and she became as pale as death.

The voung Oldcourts, seeing the effect which
the presence of the two mysterious strangers
seemed to have upon their sister, were moving
out of the railed enclosure for the purpose of
desiring them to withdraw, when the clergyman,
noticing their purpose, in a loud and rather stern
voice, said, —

" This place, at least, is free to rich and poor
alike ; and no persons must be molested in it,
who respect its sacred character."

The interference of an authority, so revered by
all parties, was quite effectual ; and Father Clancy
immediately claimed attention to the ceremony
which he was about to commence,

A variety of feehngs combined to excite a more
than ordinary interest in the different mem-
bers of the groupe collected, on this occasion,
before the altar of Father Clancy's humble tem-
ple : the evident agitation of the principal par-

320 OLDCOURT.

ties, for D'Arcy could not entirely conceal a
perturbation which he made every effort to dis-
guise, while Grace and her mother sobbed audi-
bly, without an attempt to mask their emotions, —
the anxiously affectionate looks of the rest of the
family, — the love and attachment of the tenants
and domestics, for their young mistress, pro-
ducing an almost breathless silence and at-
tention.

The sombre air of the chapel, which, when the
doors were closed, seemed to derive more light
from the tapers burning at the altar, than from
the few small, low apertures which answered for
windows to the building; all these influencing
circumstances, with the odd and unexpected as-
sociation of the two strangers, in such a scene,
invested the ceremonial with a solemnity which
affected all present with something like a sense
of awe.

The baronet assumed an aspect of resolute
calmness, and determined self-possession ; his
eye, in a side glance, still loweringly directed to
the obscure corner where the strangers remained
unmolested. Father Clancy, in a deep and im-
pressive tone, now began to read the matrimonial
formula, but had hardly time to finish the first
sentence, when the male stranger, starting, as
from a reverie, raised himself to an erect and dig-

OLDCOURT. 321

nified posture, and interrupting the ceremony, in
a hollow voice, exclaimed : —

" Stop, reverend sir ; I protest against this
marriage. Let me speak," added he, firmly-
advancing, tearing away the handkerchief that
concealed his face, and discovering to the as-'
tonished auditors, the pale and haggard coun-
tenance of Pierce Doran ; " let me speak before
you give the sanction of the church to sacrilege!"

Awed by the wild energy of his look and
manner, the outside persons of the circle in-
voluntarily made way for him, till he approached
the railing of the altar.

D'Arcy's expression was that of motionless
confusion ; and Grace, turning suddenly to her
astonished mother, who supported her with her
arm, exclaimed : —

" Oh God, my fears were prophetic ! What
dreadful mystery is this ?"

While the rest of the groupe, in mute amaze-
ment, attended to his words, Doran solemnly
stretching his hand forth towards Father Clancy,
said : —

" Before this holy altar — in the face of Heaven
and man, I denounce Sir Walter D'Arcy as a vil-
lain,— the base betrayer of innocence — who has
already virtually pledged to another that prosti-
p 2

322 OLDCOURT.

tuted hand with which he would here pollute an
angel's purity, and add sacrilege to seduction."

D'Arcy had now, in some degree, recovered
his firmness ; and indignantly addressing Father
Clancy, he requested, " that the important cere-
mony in which they were engaged, might not
be thus interrupted by the ravings of a madman ;"
at the. same time, with an authoritative voice,
desiring the servants to " remove the maniac
from the chapel." Nobody, however, seemed
disposed to obey the mandate, and Doran re-
plied in the same solemn tone ; —

" I have, indeed, been mad ; and if the bitterest
anguish of the soul could make me so, 1 should
be mad again. But there is a sense of woe that
strikes at life itself, and will not yield to madness.
You, reverend father, know me well ; — you shall
judge if falsely, or in frenzy, I accuse this man ;
for I have a witness here that shall convict him.
Yes," continued he, going to the female who
had still remained muffled in her cloak, and
drawing her, with great reluctance on her part,
to the foot of the altar; " Come forth, unhappy
victim of his baseness ; confess — avow your
shame, and confound with his guilt, the criminal
who caused it V

While uttering these words, he roughly tore

OLDCOURT. 323

away the cloak which she vainly endeavoured to
wrap round her, and discovered to view the
shrinking figure, and pale and terrified counte-
nance of Lucy Doran, drowned in tears, and
with clasped hands, begging mercy of her re-
lentless brother.

Surprise for a moment held the assembly
mute ; D'Arcy, confounded, turned aw^ay from
the piteous look of the unfortunate girl ; and
Grace Oldcourt, in an agony of emotion, hid her
face on her mother's shoulder, while Doran con-
tinued, with increasing vehemence: —

" Look at her ! you all know what she w^as but
three months since; — an opening rose-bud, — a
sweet and tender flower of innocence and beauty!
Behold her now ! faded — blighted — blasted by a
profligate, — a privileged spoiler ! — in wantonness
polluted for his sport — his pastime, — while he
coolly spread his toils for higher game. Just
Heaven ! is this to be endured — unanswered —
unavenged? Read here," taking a paper from his
pocket, and handing it to Barry Oldcourt, who
stood near him ; '* read here, the base, unmanly
artifices that wretches will resort to, who, with
honour in their mouths, have hearts more cruel
and remorseless than guilt has ever hardened
into stone, beneath a felon's ribs ! "

The paper purported to be a short note from

324 OLDCOURT.

D'Arcy to Lucy Doran, in which he entreated
her not to encourage unjust suspicions of his
honour ; — assured her that ^Yhatever she might
have heard, she ^vould always he the object of
his warmest affections; and that, if she would
but keep their intercourse secret for a short
time, he would realize all that he had promised,
and place her beyond the reach of disappoint-
ment or reproach.

Barry Oldcourt, \Yith a look of indignation
towards D'Arcy, handed the paper to Father
Clancy, who, having perused it, turned to the
baronet, and said, —

" Sir Walter D'Arcy, you have heard this
young man's charge against you. I regret to
say, it is my duty to decline proceeding with this
marriage, till you can satisfy Miss Oldcourt's
friends, and clear your conduct of the foul re-
proach that is here cast upon it."

D'Arcy, \vith an assumed haughtiness of man-
ner, replied, —

"Your decision, reverend sir! seems rather
hasty ; nor can I recognise your right to put me
on my trial. I might, perhaps, have expected,
that the evident derangement of this young man
would be considered, in estimating the motives
by which he is actuated. To gratify a rancour
which my friends here know," turning to the

OLDCOURT. 325

young men of the family, " he has long enter-
tained against me, he has contrived this scene;
and worked upon his thoughtless sister's fears, to
join him as confederate in a plot to wound Miss
Oldcourt's feelings through my honour. To
Miss Oldcourt, and her friends alone, I hold
myself accountable. To them, of course, I shall
be ready to explain w^hatever may appear ques-
tionable in my conduct ; but I must protest, sir,
against your refusal to complete the ceremony,
on the grounds that you have stated. There
exists no claim on the part of this young woman,
or any other person, that can taint my honour
towards Miss Oldcourt; or that should be con-
sidered as a lawful impediment to a union which
has been sanctioned by all who have any right to
judge of it, or to interfere regarding it."

Conceiving the baronet's hauteur of manner,
and confident tone, to be ill suited to the awk-
ward situation in which he stood, the worthy
priest, with a sternness which characterized him,
in reproving the immoralities of those who
seemed to think their station should exempt them
from rebuke, replied, —

" Sir Walter D'Arcy, I assume no right or pri-
vilege which my function does not justify; and T
must take leave to sav. sir, that if not a leoral, there

326 OLDCOURT.

is a moral cause why this marriage should be post-
poned at least, if not prevented ; and after what
has passed, I am sure, neither Miss Oldcourt nor
any of her worthy and respectable family, would
now consent to proceed, without some inquiry
into the circumstances of a transaction which
bears so unfortunate an aspect."

" Certainly not,'* exclaimed Barry Oldcourt,
in a decided and indignant tone ; " I will answ^er
for my sister," w^ho w-as indeed incapable of
uttering a word ; and his declaration w'as instantly
corroborated by every other member of the
family, in some unequivocal look or gesture of
agreement, wdiich D'Arcy could not misinterpret,
and to which he replied only by an expressive
bow around, and an acquiescent shrug of the
shoulders.

While this short dialogue was going on between
the clergyman and the baronet. Pierce Doran
stood with his hands resting, or rather sup-
porting him on the rail of the altar, in such a
state of suffering as indicated that he laboured
under bodily anguish, as w^ell as mental torture.
His countenance became livid and ghastly — his
lip quivered — large drops of frothy perspiration
stood upon his clammy forehead ; wdiile every fea-
ture and muscle seemed to wTithe with its appro-

OLDCOURT. 327

priate agony. The eyes of all were turned upon
him with mingled pity and alarm, as he struggled
to work himself up, in a new effort to speak, while
he exclaimed, —

" I am warned to be brief;" then looking
round, he proceeded; " before you all T have
accused this man, and he has not dared to
deny the charge I have brought against him.
For this poor child of sorrow," turning to his
sister, who stood weeping:, and trembling bv
his side, " so lately my pride, and now — my
shame I — yet still so dear to me! Oh, God,
how dear!" They here embraced each other
with the most convulsive emotion, while he
wildly exclaimed, " my sister! — my wronged —
my ruined sister !"

The eyes of all around them manifested the
feelings which they had excited ; and becoming
somewhat calm again, Doran proceeded : —

" For this poor sufferer there is no remedy —
no redress — no refuge upon earth ! Her doom is
fixed — to live and die a wretched outcast. She
must bare her bosom to this world's keenest blast —
rejected and reviled — the scoff" and scorn of pri-
vileged vice and unforgiving virtue. Perhaps —
Oh, God !" striking his forehead, and his whole
frame shaking with emotion ; " perhaps, a house-
less wanderer of the public street — debased — de-

328 OLDCOURT.

praved — abandoned I While the base spoiler of
her honour, the assassin of her peace, shall
walk abroad, unquestioned — unabhorred ; — re-
morseless, censureless, and shameless. Father
of Heaven ! shall the poor hungry wretch, who
robs a hen-roost, or entraps a hare, to feed his
starving children, — shall he be racked with pains
and penalties, while the foul traitor shall escape
and triumph, who ravages the shrine of virtue —
who plunder's virgin purity — who desolates the
heart, consigning life to v.'ant and woe, and in-
nocence to infamy ! - Yes ! there he stands and
braves me ; the heartless caitiff who has done all
this ! He calls me madman — wonders, re-
verend sir, that you should listen to my ravings ;
and, unabashed, beholds his hapless victim. He
has refused me all atonement ; yes, — has sharp-
ened injury by insult. I am, it seems, beneath
him — his honour will suffer him to wrong, but
not redress me ! We are plebeians, — reptiles, —
crawling worms of the earth, fit only to be tram-
pled in the soil, whenever it m,ay please the
proud patrician foot to tread upon us. — For a
crime like this, there's neither law nor justice —
it cries to Heaven in vain. What then is my
resource? — To brand the wretch, before the
altar of that God, whose law he has out-
raged. What place so proper to expose his

OLDCOURT*

32d

guilt ? — so fit to punish it ! Thus, then, I strike
the blow I"

While uttering these last words, Doran ap-
proached nearer to the spot where D'Arcy stood,
suddenly drew forth a pistol which had been
concealed in the bosom of his great coat, le-
velled and instantly discharged it at the baronet.

The shot, from the position of the parties,
must have effectually performed its office, if Barry
Oldcourt, who was situated inside the rail of the
altar next to Doran, had not, by one of those
prompt mechanical movements, which seem to
anticipate the exigency of the moment, without
the intervention of thought, struck up his pistol
arm, as he fired, and thereby altered a little the
direction of the ball, which passed over the
baronet's head, and lodged in the frame-work of
the altar behind him.

The greatest alarm immediately prevailed. The
women shrieked, Lucy Doran fainted, and was
carried into the air ; Grace Oldcourt, in strong
hysterics, fell into the arms of her mother and
Miss Matty, who were, themselves, in a state of
the greatest terror and agitation. D'Arcy was
the only person who seemed undisturbed ; he
never moved from his place, and merely ejacu-
lated, with a look more expressive of commi-

330 OLDCOURT.

seration than any other sentiment, — " Wretched
madman \"

The excitement to which unhappy Doran had
been wrought up, during his last observations,
and in which every nerve seemed strained to a
fierce and feverish energy, had reached its
crisis : — relaxation now succeeded. His strength
failed him ; the hectic fire, that for the moment
flamed upon his cheek, was quite extinguished ;
and the leaden, livid hue of death, betrayed the
suftering frame, and still more tortured spirit.

When seized by those around him, he at-
tempted no resistance. A second loaded pistol
w^as found upon him. " That," said he, coolly,
" was intended for myself; but I have provided
for this chance : a friendly draught, now burning
in my veins, will soon release me from your
grasp, and leave me little to regret, but that I
have failed in executing justice on a villain."

The extraordinary interest of the scene, the
sympathy excited in all wiio were present, by the
unhappy situation of the brother and sister, and
the fiery vehemence of gesture and language, in
w'hich Doran poured forth the feeling of his
wrongs, had suspended the faculties of the
assembled group, in a kind of breathless awe
and agitation. He might have spoken on for

OLDCOURT. 331

half the day, and they would have eagerly
attended, without a thought of interruption.
Even the dreadful act with which he sought to
close the statement of his injuries, seemed to
lose something of its atrocity, in the character
he had prepared for it ; and assassination wore
less the aspect of revenge than justice.

The tumult of alarm having in some degree
subsided, Doran, after casting a look of the most
anxious inquiry towards the group, in which
Grace Oldcourt, surrounded by her friends, was
just recovering slowly from the convulsive state
into which she had been thrown by the discharge
of the pistol, feebly and painfully addressing those
who had seized, and still held him, said, —

" You have disarmed me, gentlemen. I am
already held in the strong grasp of death ; and
if I had the will, I have not now the strength,
to injure one amongst you. Tn mercy, then,
loose your hold but for a moment, and let me
speak a word or two at liberty!"

The ghastly aspect of the unfortunate young
man, and the evident exhaustion of his whole
frame, which seemed scarcely able to sustain
him on his feet, gave ample security, that the
freedom he solicited could not be abused.

When he had been first seized, he was, for
greater safety, drawn within the raihng of the

332 OLDCOURT.

altar ; and the moment the persons who secured
him, now relaxed their grasp, tottering forward
in the direction of the spot where Grace Old-
court was placed, he fell upon his knees, and,
with a gasping fervency of accent, exclaimed, —

" Thus, let a dying wretch implore the only
boon this world can now afford him!"

Grace, whose head rested on her mother's
shoulder, and whose hand was clasped in that of
her affectionate parent, was situated with her
back to Pierce Doran ; but when she heard
herself addressed in his well-known voice, she
turned round, uttered a cry of alarm, and again
averted her head, with an expression of horror.

Doran, clasping his hands, with the most
piteous look of deprecation and despair, con-
tinued : —

•' Oh ! turn not from me, Grace ! send me
not to my grave in utter desolation ! Will
not my death atone for my offence, to yoii
at least ? Others, I know, will judge me harshly
for what I have done here this day : but I
regard it not. ' Twas in a sister's cause ; and
let them remember this : when wrong is without
redress, revenge is justice. But fate, relentless
to the last, has baffled me!"

He sunk here almost to the earth, in the
last extremity of suffering ; an universal shudder

OLDCOURT. 333

shook the hearts of all present at the dreadful
contortions \s'ith which he writhed under the
anguish he endured ; while Grace, supported by
those around her, wept and sobbed aloud. Now
again summoning to another effort his con-
vulsed faculties, in tremulous eagerness he ex-
claimed,—

"Yet one short respite. Heaven!" and con-
tinued his address to the agitated object of his
ill-starred love : —

" This is an awful moment, Grace ; — you will
not aggravate its terrors I In death, at least, I
may avow mv love ; — presumptuous love, in-
deed, and justly punished! But oh! if one
kind recollection of my life, — my hapless life —
remain in that pure bosom ; — if our early years
— our days of artless innocence — of mingled
joys and sorrows, have left one trace behind ;
— if the long faithful homage of this heart,
its silent sufferings, and its wild despair, have
power to wake one spark of sympathy, — let
them avail me now ! Let them now plead for
me, in this my last request ; — one praver — 'tis
all I ask ! — One prayer from your pure angel
spirit, Grace, — breathed for my soul's peace !
one look, before this world shall close on me
for ever ; — one cheering look of pity and for-
giveness !"

334 OLDCOURT.

While Doran, with a burst of energy, in
which the soul flared out before its final extinc-
tion, was uttering this impassioned appeal, Grace
Oldcourt seemed to be wrought up to a state of
agitation almost as painful and piteous as his
own ; — she gasped for breath. When he had
finished, she made an effort to speak, but her
words were arrested in her throat — a sense of
suffocation deprived her of all power of utter-
ance— for a moment she was convulsed ; but at
length, her eagerness conquering her feelings,
she tremulously articulated : —

" Oh, Pierce ! Oh ! rash, unhappy friend ! still
true to me ! — in life — in death — my guardian!"

When suddenly dropping on her knees, with
upraised hands, she prayed : —

" Almighty Father ! visit not in wrath this
deed of desperation !" and turning to the expiring
youth before her, she added, in a voice almost
choked with sorrow : —

" May Heaven forgive you. Pierce, as I for-
give and pity you !"

Entirely overcome by the struggle she had
made, she tried to rise, but fell back into the
arms of her brothers, who rushed forward to
support her, and immediately carried her out of
the chapel.

While she spoke, a feeble gleam of joy ap-

OLDCOURT. 335

peared to light up the agonized countenance of
poor Doran ; his Hps moved, but no sound pro-
ceeded from them ; he made an attempt to
replace himself upon his feet ; but wholly ex-
hausted in the effort, he fell backwards with
great violence against the raihng of the altar,
before any of those who were around him could
rush to his assistance.

Father Clancy was the first to sustain his un-
fortunate pupil in his arms ; — Doran just opened
his eyes, — looked in the face of his reverend
benefactor — and with one convulsive sigh —
expired.

336 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XIX.

In order to explain fully to the reader, the
circumstances which led to the unhappy event
recorded in the last chapter, it will be necessary
to look back a little in our narrative, and perhaps
repeat some of those observations which have
been already noticed in the preceding pages.

If the character of Sir Walter D'Arcy have
been developed with fidelity or effect, it will be
recollected, that with many excellent qualities of
head and heart, with many accomplishments,
and many virtues, that young gentleman was,
what in the language of fashionable life, is called
a man of gallantry : that is, a person wholly
without honour amongst women, whatever claim
he may have to that quality amongst men ; a
person whose ambition it is to pursue his licen-
tious pleasures, regardless of the misery which
may be the result of their indulgence ; and who

OLDCOURT. 337

thinks it no impeachment of his estimation as a
gentleman, to perpetrate offences against beauty
and innocence, which, considered in their trea-
cherous contrivance, or fatal consequences, might
add a deeper shade to the guilt of an Abershaw,
and blacken the calendar of the Old Bailey.

A little experience of the world, however, the
sell- searching ruminations of mature manhood,
and a naturally generous spirit, operated to pro-
duce an occasional pause in the heartless career
of dissipation, and led him often into that state
of suspicious distaste and wavering immorality,
in which, —

"The soul distrusting, asks if this be joy."

Although, as has been already observed, he was
wholly unrestrained by any religious or moral
impressions in his intercourse with the fair, yet
there was a sort of innate semi-suppressed noble-
ness of feeling in his breast, which recoiled
from any cool, concerted plan of seduction.
WTien temptation was thrown in his wav, his
ardent temperament rushed on to the gratification
of his passions; but he never, "with maUce
prepense," plotted an intrigue with the busi-
ness-like baseness of the professional debauchee.
The circumstances which followed the death
of his father, the embarrassments affecting his

VOL. III. Q

33R OLDCOURT.

pecuniary independence, which their combined
extravagance had produced, and the mortifying
distrust and disHke with which he was received
at Killorgan Hall, by those from whom he had
the warmest patrician expectations of homage and
respect — all contributed to give a serious cast to
his reflections, — to make him doubt the wisdom
of his course, and suspect the soundness of those
maxims which constitute the code of fashionable
moraUty.

In this state of mind, and under the growing
influence of these impressions, D'Arcy had joined
the depot of his regiment at Gal way ; and he,
perhaps, never was so little in love with the cha-
racter of a man of gallantry, as at the moment
when he fell in love with Grace Oldcourt.

Nothing so soon, or so efiectually diverts a
man from a course of vicious indukence, as a
virtuous attachment. The influence of Miss
Oldcourt's amiable qualities, and the pictures of
connubial felicity, which D'Arcy began to paint
in his ardent imagination, and in which she was
always the principal figure, powerfully assisted
to strengthen his good feelings, and turned the
balance completely against those selfish sensu-
alities, which he began to perceive were not more
inconsistent with morality, than ineffectual for
happiness.

OLDCOURT. 339

It was with the most perfect sincerity of pur-
pose, therefore, that he meditated to retrieve
the follies of his early youth ; and commence,
from his marriage, a new career, which, under
the guidance of an angel, should be characterized
by the exemplary fulfilment of every moral and
social duty.

Burning with all the zeal of projected reforma-
tion, D'Arcy first took possession of the apart-
ment which he had engaged in the little pic-
turesque inn of the village of Oldcourt. It was
situated directly opposite to the respectable cot-
tage of old Doran, who, since the death of his
wife, had lived in a sort of surly seclusion, with
his only daughter, as the manager of his esta-
bhshment.

Lucy Doran was a sweet, blooming, innocent
girl of seventeen ; romantic from her age and
character, melancholy from the unhappy situa-
tion of her brother, then confined under medical
care at Galway, and from both causes combined,
in a state of nervous sensibility, which rendered
her peculiarly susceptible of tender impressions.

Much less beauty than Lucy Doran possessed,
would have sufficed to excite attention in a
country village ; and placed, as our hero was, in
so favourable a post of observation, it was hardly
possible that she should not attract his notice.

340 OLDCOURT.

D'Arcy thought her an uncommonly pretty
girl ; but what had he now to do with pretty
girls ? His gallantries were at an end, and he,
therefore, turned his head another way. Their
eyes, however, so often met, that they seemed to
be, involuntarily, on the look-out for each other ;
and Lucy always blushed and looked embarrassed.

There was a pleasant pathway leading from
the village, through some fields, to the Castle of
Oldcourt. It was an agreeable, w^ell-shaded
walk ; and D'Arcy always preferred it to the
common road. In one of his morning peram-
bulations, he overtook Lucy Doran, at a stile
which separated some meadows from a green
lane that lay in their route. Common politeness
required that he should assist her to get over it ;
and as they were proceeding in the same direction,
it was impossible to avoid a httle conversation
on the way. D'Arcy was all compliment ; Lucy
all confusion. An acquaintance w^as thus com-
menced, which inadvertent opportunities on both
sides, during the baronet's subsequent visits to
the little inn of the village, increased to famili-
arity. Lucy Doran was too artless and unsus-
pecting to avoid those occasions of intercourse
which D'Arcy persuaded himself he did not seek ;
and some how or other, they often found them-
selves thrown together by accident, under cir-

OLDCOURT. 341

cumstances of passionate excitement, and in
situations of dangerous seclusion.

The habits of gallantry are not easily relin-
quished ; and few men, perhaps, have ever had
the firmness to forego a favourite indulgence,
without suffering an occasional relapse. D'Arcy's
new moral convictions had not taken sufficient
root in his mind, to resist the allurements to
which he was now exposed. He flattered him-
self, however, with the reflection, that he had not
sought the danger ; and the licentious principles
which were but too familiar to the circles in which
his hfe had been hitherto passed, not only pal-
liated, but sanctioned a conduct, which would only
add one more trespass to the catalogue of fashion-
able follies in which men of the world allow them-
selves to indulge.

As an entanglement of this kind had, on his
part, at least, nothing to do with the heart, he
thought the serious matrimonial drama in which
he was engaged at the castle, might be amusingly
reheved by the underplot of a little rustic amour,
without any very culpable violation of the homage
which he offered at the shrine of his legitimate
idol.

Poor Lucy Doran, though innocent in every
thought, and as far as her intentions were con-
cerned, as virtuous as a vestal, was too young

342 OLDCOURT.

and artless, herself, to require much artifice in
the proceedings of any handsome young man,
who talked to her in the language of love. To
her, the fascinations of the baronet were irre-
sistible, and she soon fell a sacrifice to vows
which, proverbially, are made to be broken ; de-
luded by those vague and general professions of
honour and attachment, by which relentless pro-
fligacy betrays the tender and the trusting heart.

But D'Arcy did not carry on his cottage ad-
venture without some compunction, and con-
siderable embarrassment. The extreme youth,
the simplicity, and unsuspecting character of his
victim, interested his better feelings in her fa-
vour. He lamented, w^ien too late, the cruel
and inconsiderate part he had acted towards her ;
and though he endeavoured to " lay the flattering
unction to his soul," that his error was not the
result of design on his part, but the consequence
of the circumstances in which he was placed, he
could not but consider the affair as the most
reprehensible and unfortunate, in which his gal-
lantry had ever involved him.

The gentlemanly station to which her brother
had been raised by the injudicious kindness of
the Oldcourt family, and her occasional visits to
the castle, had given to Lucy Doran ideas beyond
the class of life in which she was placed. She

OLDCOURT. 343

became ambitious of moving in a higher sphere ;
and the eagerness with which- all her thoughts
were directed to that object, rendered her an
easy prey to a lover of superior rank, and the
credulous dupe of his protestations.

D'Arcy, also, looked with no small alarm at
the unfavourable effect which the discovery of
this unlucky affair, might possibly produce at the
castle. The delicacy of Grace Oldcourt's mind,
and the strong: relis:ious and moral feelincr by
which he had observed her to be always intlu-
enced, made him fear that she would view an
exploit of this nature, in a very different light
from that in which it is usually considered by
the gay world ; and so many awkward circum-
stances had combined to render concealment
difficult, if not impracticable, that his only secu-
rity appeared to consist in pressing forward his
marriage as quickly as possible, before his delin-
quency should reach the ears of the family.

Notwithstanding the rumours which his fre-
quent visits to the castle had occasioned in the
neighbourhood, our hero succeeded in persuading
the simple girl, that his intercourse with the Old-
court family grew out of his friendship with the
sons, and their pursuits as sportsmen, rather
than his attachment to the daughter. But when
the period of the wedding was fixed, and conse-

344 OLDCOURT.

quently, had become publicly known in the vil-
lage, the grief and consternation of poor Lucy
Doran became uncontrollable.

With the sanguine folly characteristic of her
age, and her ignorance of the world, she had in-
dulged in flattering delusions of hope; which the
special pleading of a man of gallantry satisfied
D'Arcy that he had not authorized, because he
had fraudulently masked his meaning in equivo-
cal terms. Under the influence of disappoint-
ment and despair, the unfortunate girl became so
regardless of appearances, as to excite apprehen-
sions of an immediate explosion ; and with the
utmost difficulty was she dissuaded by the baronet
from repairing to the castle, to make a full state-
ment of her wrongs.

This was the embarrassing position of affairs
in the village of Oldcourt, when Pierce Doran
arrived there to take leave of his father and sister,
previous to his departure for India. Old Doran
had been some time confined to his bed by a
violent attack of rheumatism ; and he was too
much engrossed by his own personal sufferings, to
attend to the ill -suppressed agitation of his
daughter. Her brother, with whom she had
always been a great favourite, immediately per-
ceived the change which had taken place in her
appearance and spirits, and was led to apprehend

OLDCOURT. 345

the existence of some cause for it, which could
not be referred either to his father's illness or
his own.

The baronet had just taken up his quarters at
the little inn, for a few days previous to his
marriage ; and, when Doran learned that D'Arcy
had been a frequent visitor there, during the long
period of his own confinement at Galway, a
dreadful suspicion crossed his mind, which
anxious observation strengthened, and accident
fatally confirmed.

A day or two after his arrival, Doran had been
occupied, at a considerable distance from the vil-
lage, in transacting some business for his father.
Having arranged it sooner than he expected, he
was slowly returning at the close of evening, in
melancholy rumination on his fate, and lan^ient-
ing that he had ever been removed from the
sphere of life in which he had been born. In
that humble state, his coarser feelings might have
ensured him tranquillity, at least, if not happiness ;
and a life of labour would not have lef: him leisure
to cultivate those morbid sensibilities of pride and
passion, which too often become the insupport-
able torment of those who are removed from the
grosser evils of existence, only to be exposed by
leisure, education, and refinement, to miseries
at once more keen, and less capable of remedy.
q2

346

OLDCOURT.

As he proceeded, by an unfrequented path,
through an orchard at the back of the cottage,
his attention was suddenly aroused to some im-
passioned words, betW'Cen two persons at the
other side of the hedge, whose voices were famihar
to his ear. He stepped aside for a moment, and
the immediate appearance of his sister, and Sir
Walter D'Arcy, in deep and agitated conversa-
tion, realized his worst fears.

D'Arcy was earnestly endeavouring to pacify
Lucy Doran's feelings, on the subject of his ap-
proaching marriage, and promising every atone-
ment for her wrongs ; the unhappy girl answered
only by her tears, and the most piteous exclama-
tions of distress at her situation.

Maddened by w^hat he heard, Doran rushed
from his concealment. His sister, with a scream
of terror, fled precipitately towards the cottage.
The baronet, though embarrassed by his unex-
pected reiicontre, was cool and collected. Do-
ran, in a transport of rage, and with a torrent of
reproaches, struck at his enemy with a stick,
which he carried in his hand. The latter, how-
ever, warded off the blow, wrested the weapon
from the grasp of his assailant, and, by superior
strength, in the personal struggle which ensued,
threw him to the ground.

Doran, whose muscular vigour had been greatly

Ol.DCOURT. 34^

impaired by his long illness, and who was ex-
hausted by his own fury, remained for some time
panting for breath, and unable to rise. D'Arcy,
having broken across his knee, the stick with
which he had been attacked, declared, he would
no farther punish the assault which Doran had
made upon him ; but contemptuously desiring
him to go home, and thank his sister for hi«
safety, — retired.

Mortified in his own person, and cut to the
heart by the disgraceful discovery which he had
made, Doran returned to the cottage, where
the terrors of an interview with her exasperated
brother, had induced the wretched Lucy to lock
herself in her room for the night.

The irritation of Doran's feelings deprived him
of sleep. Rage and revenge took possession of
his soul ; and impatiently he watched for the
approach of morning, that he might take the
necessary measures to sooth the one, and satisfy
the other. Having prepared his pistols, he
issued forth at the earliest hour in which he
could hope for access to the baronet, and im-
petuously demanded from him immediate satis-
faction.

D'Arcy. conscious that he had given ample
cause for the resentment which Doran breathed

348 OLDCOURf.

against him, at first tried to calm the agitation of
his visitor, and suggested the propriety of accom-
modating an aftair which violence could not now
remed}^ But the proposition served only to fire
Doran with additional indignation. The baronet,
however, having determined not to aggravate the
injuries of his sister, by attempting the life of
her brother, finally refused to give him the re-
dress he sought for, on the ground that his sta-
tion in life did not authorize him either to require
or expect it.

This mode of setting aside his claim, by dis-
allowing his pretensions to enforce it, operated
on the unhappy young man as a new insult ;
and he clamoured for redress with such increased
vehemence, that D'Arcy haughtily declared, if
Doran molested him farther on the subject, he
would be obliged to inflict upon him an ignomi-
nious chastisement.

Stung to the soul, the indignant spirit of Doran
prompted him to the wildest acts of violence ;
but, checking his fury, he withdrew, uttering such
mysterious denunciations of vengeance, that
D'Arcy was struck with an apprehension lest, in
a return of the insanity, under which the unfor-
tunate young man so recently suffered, he mi^ht
commit some act of desperation, that would at

OLDCOURT. 349

once lay open those circumstances, the present
concealment of which, was so essential to our
hero's views.

The anxious considerations which were con-
nected with the aflfair, at such a critical moment,
so disconcerted the baronet, that he could not
wholly suppress his embarrassment; and the
conviction that he was disturbed by something
unusual, tended to confirm Grace Oldcourt in
those melancholy anticipations which hung upon
her spirits, from the moment of Doran's arrival in
the village, and which she could neither account
for nor conquer.

In the bitterness of his heart, poor Doran
cursed his fate, for having placed him in a situ-
ation to acquire the feelings of a gentleman ; and
execrated the prejudices of society, which denied
him the privileges belonging to that character.

Disgraced in the dearest object of his domestic
affections — wounded in the tenderest nerve of
human passion — wronged, rivalled, and in-
sulted, he saw himself hopeless, helpless, and un-
redressed. Overwhelmed with rage and passion,
his reason again began to give way in the mental
convulsion ; but. struck by a sudden thought, he
immediately assumed the calmness of determined
purpose. He resolved to sacrifice himself, and
the object of his vengeance, at the same time ;

350 OLDCOURT.

and after a night of dark and moody meditation,
he devised the plan of which the result was de-
tailed in the last chapter, as the most impressive
and exemplary mode of punishing a crime to
which the defective jurisprudence of society has
attached no penalty. He never once upbraided
his sister ; but wept over her as a fond parent over
a dying child. Concealing from her the fatal
extent of his design, he required her co-operation ;
but poor Lucy shrunk with horror from a project
which involved her own exposure as well as that
of her seducer.

With the immoveable obstinacy, however,
which characterizes the impressions of a disor-
dered intellect, he persisted in demanding her
assistance in his scheme ; till, after a wild alterna-
tion of threats and entreaties, the unfortunate
girl, terrified at the frantic violence of his manner,
consented, as the reader has seen, to act as he
desired.

The dreadful scene to which Grace Oldcourt
had been exposed at the chapel, her own dis-
tressing share in it, and the struggle she had made
to support herself imder such cruel circumstances,
produced so powerful an effect upon her agitated
frame, that she was carried home in a state of
insensibility, which was but the prelude to a vio-
lent fever.

OLD COURT. 351

For many days sunk in debility, or excited to
delirium, she fluctuated between life and death.
Her heart-broken mother, night after night,
watched by her bed-side ; the terror of losing her
child absorbing her whole soul to such a degree,
that, for some time, the disappointment of all her
cherished hopes, was almost unthought of, in her
apprehensions of the greater calamity with which
she was threatened.

The whole family participated in the distress
occasioned by the dangerous situation of their
favourite. Even the gout, which deadens the
sympathies of its victims towards the sufferings of
others, more perhaps than any other malady,
could not prevent the old squire utternig fre-
quent exclamations of anxiety for his " poor
Grace ;'' and universal gloom and sadness reigned
in the house of Oldcourt.

At length, however, youth, and a sound con-
stitution, triumphed over the diseeise. Alter a
crisis, which, for the moment, seemed the last
struggle of exhausted nature, the patient, in a
slumber, which only the vigilance of affection
could distinguish from the sleep of death, derived
new vigour from the mysterious source of life and
health ; her disorder took a favourable turn, and
she was gradually restored to the wishes and
prayers of her delighted family.

352 OLDCOURT.

After the melancholy occurrence at the chapel,
when the parties retired, but little intercourse
took place between them. The baronet, shocked
and confounded at his situation, seemed quite
uncertain how to act : but approaching his friend,
Barry Oldcourt, who had just been engaged with
his brothers in placing their almost lifeless sister
in the carriage which was to convey her to the
castle, D'Arcy, with much embarrassment, ad-
dressed him : —

" My dear Barry, you must allow me an early
opportunity for a full explanation of this un-
pleasant business."

To which the irritated young man fiercely and
indignantly replied : —

" In due time and place, sir, I shall require
one;" turning away with an air of resolute re-
sentment, which precluded farther communi-
cation.

Exasperated at the outrage to his sister's feel-
ings, grieved for the fate of poor Doran, and
enraged at the unprincipled character of the whole
transaction, the warm and enthusiastic friend-
ship which Barry had conceived for the baronet,
was at once shaken to its foundation ; and the
spirited young man burned with the desire to
avenge in the field, the injury and insult which he
thought his family had received. Mr. Oldcourt,

OLDCOURT. 353

however, who was himself too much alive to such
feelings to doubt of his son's intentions on such
an occasion, interfered, and decisively forbade all
proceedings of personal hostility towards the
baronet.

The squire, whose morality was rather lax in
affairs of love, did not regard D'Arcy's transgres-
sion as quite so flagrant and unpardonable an of-
fence as it appeared to the stricter principles of
his children ; although his good nature, and his
long attachment to Pierce Doran, made him
deplore the sad result by which that transgres-
sion had been attended.

In the eyes of the squire, the baronet had
many recommendations as a son-in-law. " Al-
lowances were to be made for human frailty.
He had been no Joseph himself, he was sorry
to say ; and he knew many thoughtless young
men, who, when they had sown their wild oats,
sobered down into very good husbands, and ex-
emplary masters of families. At any rate, the
baronet had violated no engagement, and medi-
tated no insult to his daughter ; and he insisted
that no decisive measure should be resorted to,
till Grace was sufficiently recovered to determine
for herself, in a case where her interest was so
materially concerned."

The alarming illness of their sister, which

354 OLDCOURT.

immediately ensued, co-operating with the com-
mands of Mr. Oldcourt, prevented any immediate
manifestation of resentment to D'Arcy, on the
part of Barry, or his brothers.

With feeUngs of the deepest disappointment,
and the keenest self-reproach. Sir Walter D'Arcy
repaired to his quarters at Galway. He had
now tasted, in all their bitterness, the poisonous
fruits of that heartless sensuality, which the
remissness or connivance of legislation, suffers
to prowl around, and prey at large, upon the
best, the most interestins:, and the most de-
fenceless portion of our species.

If, in the full career of dissipation, — in the
riot of licentious indulgence, he had hesitated as
to the policy of the course he was pursuing, —
if he had suspected that it was not the path
which leads to real pleasure, or substantial en-
joyment, what must have been the appalling
conviction of his mind upon the subject, whea
he found the sad results of his profligacy covering
him with shame and confusion, at the most in-
teresting moment of his existence ? — when he
found the ills which he had wantonly inflicted
upon others, striking in fatal recoil against him-
self— blasting his dearest hopes, and baffling the
only rational project he had ever foi-med for
the happiness of his future life ?

OLDCOURT. 355

Until the period of his acquaintance with
Grace Oldcourt, D'Arcy had never experienced
the power, and, indeed, could hardly conceive
the nature of an attachment, in which mind
completely triumphs over matter ; in which the
ore of passion is purified from the dross of
sense, and the grosser seductions of animal
gratification become subordinate to those mag-
netic emotions of the heart, in which " souls
each other draw/' and sentiment spuitualizes
love to an essence of celesticd character. When
the flame was once kindled, however, it burned
with an intensity which corresponded with the
ardour of our hero's disposition; and no wor-
shipper could be more sincere in his conversion
to the pure faith of affection, though the in-
veteracy of old habits exposed him to relapse
into his former heresies.

The insanity of poor Doran, to which D'Arcy
persuaded himself the last actions of that unfor-
tunate young man's life were to be attributed,
relieved our hero, in his own opinion, from
some of the responsibility to which he would
have otherwise considered himself liable ; but he
had humanity and generosity enough, to be
shocked and grieved at Doran 's unhappy fate.

For his conduct to Lucy Doran, also, he felt
the bitterest remorse ; and he resolved to make

356 OLDCOURT.

her and her father all the amends that money,
at least, could enable him to offer, for the
redress of so irretrievable an injury.

But his whole soul was engrossed by the
apprehension, that he had become an object of
abhorrence in the eyes of Grace Oldcourt. He
had, for some months, looked forward to his union
with her, as the commencement of a new era in
his hfe ; in which he was to retrieve the follies and
extravagance of his early youth, and realize all
his visions of domestic bliss. Her sweetness,
gentleness, vivacity, and good sense, had cast a
spell upon his heart, more powerful than the
necromancy of mere beauty could ever exercise ;
and her idea was so associated with all his future
hopes and projects, that existence, without her,
seemed to lose its relish; and the world, once
the fairy land of his delight, presented to his
mind, nothing better than

** One universal blank."

He was willing to flatter himself, however,
that he had still interest enough in Grace
Oldourt's heart, to sustain him against the
shock, which he was aware he must have given
to the purity of her nature, and the dehcacy
of her sentiments. Women in general, he

OLDCOURT. 357

knew, were disposed to look with some indul-
gence on a lover, who had the reputation of
being, according to the fashionable phrase, un
pea volage before marriage, in the confidence,
doubtless, of their power to fix the rover after-
wards. But, though he had reason to know,
that Grace looked with detestation on the liber-
tine who shamelessly avows his vices, and even
fancies that his immoralities will recommend
him, yet our hero resolved to make an effort, to
restore himself to the favour of his mistress; and,
after a night's dehberation, he determined to
address a letter to his friend, Barry Oldcourt, as
the first step towards effecting that object.

358 OLDCOURT.

CHAPTER XX.

During the first alarm of the family at the
sudden and violent illness of Grace Oldcourt,
the following letter, from Sir Walter D'Arcy,
was dehvered to Barry Oldcourt, enclosing a
second, addressed to his sister.

" My Dear Barry,

" So many unfortunate circumstances
have conspired to place my conduct in an un-
favourable point of view before you and your
excellent family, that I can as readily excuse as
account for, the tone and tendency of your
reply to me yesterday ; although I must say, I
had hoped, that our friendship was too firmly
established, to be so suddenly, and T trust, in-
considerately shaken.

" I address you now, however, uninfluenced
by any other feeling, than that v/hich arises

OLDCOURT. 359

from a sincere anxiety to reinstate myself in your
good opinion, as far at least, as a reasonable
consideration of the case may admit.

" Do not imagine, my dear Barry, that I pur-
pose to justify my conduct ; on the contrary, I
am fully sensible of its impropriety ; and indeed,
if I were not, I should hold myself as having no
claim to that liberal construction of my actions,
as far as they have been connected with recent
unhappy events, which I so earnestly solicit.

" I have been, my dear Barry, as I believe, in
our confidential moments, I have acknowledged
to you before, what the world calls a gay young
man. Strong passions, an ill-conducted educa-
tion, and bad example, exposed me early to
many of those irregularities, which, I am sorry
to say, too generally characterize the youth of
the present day, in that class of life to which I
belong.

" Unruly at school, riotous at college, and
dissipated in society, I shared in the follies of
those by whom I was surrounded; and thought-
lessly pursued those enjoyments, to which we
are naturally too prone, and to which the
consciousness of our common frailty renders us
perhaps too indulgent.

" But though I have been prodigal, I have not
been unprincipled ; and though candour obliges

360 OLDCOURT.

me to confess I have been somewhat dissolute in
my pleasures, I have not been depraved. An
ardent curiosity to behold human life in all its
varieties, has occasionally led me into scenes of
vulgar revelry, and low excess: but it has been as
a spectator, not as an actor ; and my character
has never been degraded by the practice of mean
or sordid vices.

" Though, unguarded by moral or religious in-
culcation, I was left, in the very fever of passion,
to my own guidance — though carried away by the
current, and whirled round for a time in the
vortex of dissipation, I never sunk to the level of
the gambler, the bacchanal, or the debauchee ; —
my honour has always been untainted, and no
man has ever dared to impute to me any conduct
derogatory to my station in society, or incon-
sistent with the feehngs of a gentleman.

" I must do myself the justice to declare, also,
that before I had the happiness to be introduced
to your incomparable sister, I had become dis-
gusted with the follies of my early course, and
had determined that the future should be re-
gulated on better principles than the past.

" The contemplation of Miss Oldcourt's virtues,
and the ambition which I felt to render myself in
some degree worthy of her regard, confirmed all
my good intentions ; and never was I more en-

OLDCOURT. 361

thusiaslically determined to justify the partiality
with which she honoured me, than at the very
moment when my evil genius threw that tempta-
tion in my way, by unfortunately yielding to
which, the cup of felicity has been dashed from
my lips, and all the prospects of my life, perhaps,
have been blasted for ever.

" But remember, Barry, I sought not this
temptation. You know the motives which ac-
tuated me to take up my quarters at that accursed
inn, unconscious that such a person as Lucy
Doran existed. Bear in memory, then, 1 say
again, that the temptation was brought to ray
very door. I meditated no wrong against this
poor girl ; nav, I anxiously struggled to resist
those allurements which her simplicity rendered
more dangerous, in proportion as they appeared
undesigning. My heart and soul never for an
instant swerved from the fidelity due to the angel
who first had power to subject them to her sway ;
but the coarser passions of our corrupt nature
rebelled in a moment of infatuation, and I now
suffer the penalty of my offence.

" Justly am I suffering, I acknowledge ; but where
is the young man who shall say, that in similar
circumstances, he would have stood erect, — that
he would not have fallen, like me ! To you, mv

VOL. III. R

362 OLDCOURT.

dear Barry, I appeal, as to a man of sense — a
man of the world ; — young as you are, you have had
experience enough of hfe, even in your own rural
circle, to be convinced that it is necessary to
make allowances for human frailty — you know
how lightly such errors are passed over, in the lax
morality of the great world, where, strange to say,
they are even supposed to give an eclat to a
ashionable reputation ; but though you may
naturally exclaim against such a perversion of
principle, you will not judge transgressions of this
sort, with the austerity of a monk.

" The insanity of the unfortunate young man
who has fallen a victim to his own desperation, has
invested the affair in question with a tragic cha-
racter, which does not fairly belong to it, and for
which, under any reasonable calculation of conse-
quences, I surely cannot be held responsible.
You will, therefore, T trust, be my advocate with
that angel upon whose decision my fate, for good
or evil, now depends. In the enclosed letter,
which I confide to your care, I have endeavoured
to express my compunction — to lay my heart
bare before her, and solicit the exercise of her
mercy, to soften that verdict which I have too
much reason to fear from her justice. But my
faculties are powerless, even in the ideal presence

OLDCOURT. 363

of a being so exalted above the imperfections of
her sex, and the subject is of too deUcate a na-
ture to be discussed with a spirit so pure.

" To you, my dear Barry, I give carte blanche ;
you shall yourself regulate the reparation which
I am bound to make to my unhappy victim, and
tlie atonement which I am anxious to offer to
your angelic sister.

" You must be aware how readily matters of
this nature are every day arranged, in those cir-
cles to which we all look up, for examples of that
enlightened propriety, in which a liberal policy is
allowed to soften the rigour of a system too pure
for the practice of the world.

" Procure for me, then, once more, the privi-
lege of devoting body and soul, life and fortune,
to the happiness of her who must ever be the
sole idol of my heart, and whose loved idea is in
terwoven with my existence. Be the advocate
of my cause, the palliator of my offence, and the
guarantee of my repentance ; and you will for
ever bind to you, by the strongest ties of grati-
tude and regard,

" My dear Barry,

" Your unhappy friend,

" Walter Maurice D'Arcy."

The agitation of his mind, occasioned by the

364 OLDCOURT.

dangerous situation of his sister, rendered Barry
Oldcourt incapable of attending to the baronet's
^etter ; and it remained for some time unanswered.
As soon, however, as all fears for her life were re-
moved, he dispatched a note to D'Arcy, couched
in the following terms : —

" Sir,

" The alarming illness of Miss Old-
court, has too much occupied her family, for
some days past, to admit of an earlier reply to
the communication v^'ith which you have fa-
voured me.

'* She is, however, now out of danger ; and
v/hen her strcno^th shall be so far restored, as to
render it prudent for her friends to subject her
to those emotions, vrhich the perusal of such a
document must excite, your letter shall be sub-
mitted to her consideration ; when it will receive
such notice as may be dictated by the feelings of
Miss Oldcourt, and consistent with the honour
of her family.

" 1 remain. Sir, &c.

" Barry Oldcourt."

The haughty and hostile spirit of this epistle
stung the baronet to the quick. He felt that he
had sunk in his own esteem ; and his pride and

OLDCOURT.

365

his sense of personal dignity were mortified and
depressed. But still he clung to the hope that
his letter might revive his influence in the breast
of Grace Oldcourt, and that after what had passed
between them, she would not entirely cast him
off. During her illness, he had been a prey to
the most bitter anxiety ; for he could not but re-
gard himself as its cause. He was constant in
his inquiries, and repaired frequently to the
castle in person, but never could obtain admis-
sion within its walls.

Tn the most agitating suspense, therefore, he
was obliged to await the decision of a court, in
which, he knew, an impression of his offence
was entertained, very different from that which
prevailed in those regions of luxury and licen-
tiousness, where fashion and folly are the advo-
cates of vice, and profligacy is sheltered from
reprobation, through mutual connivance and
common criminality.

Through the whole of her indisposition, Grace
Oldcourt never once mentioned the baronet's
name ; and studiously avoided recurring to any
circumstances connected with their matrimonial
engagement. During her convalescence, her
sweet and gentle spirit, for the comfort of her
friends, eagerly assumed the aspect of serenity ;

366 OLDCOURT.

while anguish agitated her secret thoughts, and
preyed upon her heart.

When her strength appeared to be sufficiently
restored, to justify the introduction of a subject,
upon which the squire and his son Barry, for
different reasons, were very desirous to obtain
her decision, it was resolved, that D'Arcy's
letter should be communicated to her without
farther delay; and poor Mrs. Oldcourt, who,
from the unhappy day that frustrated all her
hopes, had never held up her head, undertook
to perform the painful task of calUng her daugh-
ter's attention to its contents.

In a moment of affectionate intercourse, when
Grace seemed to be particularly calm and col-
lected, her mother guardedly led to the topic
that so often trembled on her lips ; and, placing
the baronet's letter in her daughter's hands, she
said, with great emotion : —

" Read that letter, Grace ; and may God direct
your decision, my child, for your own happiness !'*

The instant Grace recognised the hand-writing
of the address, she trembled violently : the hue
of returning health forsook her cheeks, and
exclaiming, " Oh I cruel, cruel D'Arcy !" she
fell upon her knees, adding, with clasped hands,
and with the utmost fervour of devotion : —

OLDCOURT. 367

" Good Heaven sustain me in this second
trial !"

She now requested to be allowed to retire
to her own apartment, where she remained for
the rest of that day, and the whole of that which
succeeded, having solicited to be left alone during
that time.

The affectionate feelings of Mrs. Oldcourt,
however, would not allow her to refrain longer.
At the close of the second evening, with a pal-
pitating heart, she repaired to her daughter's
room. Anxiously and unobserved she entered
the apartment, and was shocked and alarmed,
to perceive the effect which, in so short a period,
agitation had produced upon her child. Grace
was on her knees, in fervent prayer, her hand?
clasped upon her bosom, and tears streaming
from her eyes. On a table which stood beside
her, were writing materials, — many cancelled
leaves of manuscript, and a letter, folded, and
addressed to Sir Walter D'Arcy.

As soon as she perceived her mother, Grace
rose hastily from her position, embraced her
afflicted parent with great emotion, and ex-
claimed,—

" Oh, my dear mother 1 think not I have
hesitated, because I have delayed. I am weak,
but not irresolute. The struggle, however, I

!68

OLDCOURT.

over; and Heaven, I trust, has triumphed in
my heart/'

Then, taking up the letter from the table, she
added : —

" I place this in your hands for him, whose
name, in mercy ! let me never hear again. And
now, my dear mother, this world has loosed its
hold upon me."

On saying which, unable to sustain the little
firmness she had collected for the moment, she
threw her arms round her mother's neck, and
gave way to an agony of feeling, in which parent
and child, drowned in tears, for some hours
intermingled their mutual sorrows.

With the most anxious curiosity, the family
assembled on the following morning, to hear the
contents of a letter, so interesting to all its
members, from their attachment to the writer,
and their feelings as to her farther intercourse
with Sir Walter D'Arcy.

Father Clancy, the zealous and confidential friend
of the family, was requested to be present ; his rela-
tionship to Mrs.Oldcourt, and his warm affectionfor
his favourite pupil, giving him the claims, the con-
sideration, and the influence of a near connexion.
Grace had requested to be still allowed to
remain in the privacy of her own apartment ;
from which, indeed, the state of debility to

OLDCOURT. 369

which she had been reduced, by the increased
agitation of her mind, during the last two days,
had rendered it impossible for her to remove.

Her letter to the baronet was coached in the
following terms : —

" Sir,

'' After the dreadful events which have
recently taken place, and of which you must
consider yourself the cause, you could have no
reason to be surprised, if I had suffered the
letter which you have addressed to me to re-
main unnoticed.

" Of the effect which such events were calcu-
lated to produce on my mind, I should have
thought you could entertain no doubt ; but, as
you so urgently solicit to be informed on the
subject by my own hand, I shall endeavour,
however painful it may be to my feelings, to
perform the last task which our unfortunate
acquaintance has imposed upon me.

" To close, for ever, that acquaintance, is the
object of this letter. Alas 1 why cannot I also
shut out for ever from my memory, the delusive
dream of its existence !

" Before the fated period of its commencement,
though young, and of a cheerful temper, ihe
ordinary pleasures of the world had little attrac-
R 2

370 OLDCOURT.

tion for me. I trembled at its dangers and its
cares ; and when I looked around, amongst those
who distinguished me by their attentions, there
was not one with whom, as a companion, I could
willingly submit to encounter them. My feeUngs
revolted against ungracious manners, intempe-
rate habits, and contracted sentiments. I saw
that a life of tranquillity and seclusion was my
propher sphere ; and I considered myself as
deficient in those finer sensibilities of the heart,
•which characterize my sex.

** Soon, alas ! was I doomed to feel how
much I was mistaken. Accident brought me
acquainted with one who knew how to put my
sensibility to the test, and who drew forth at
once, all the latent affections of which I thought
myself so little susceptible. In him was placed
before me, the model of all that I had ever
fancied as perfection in man. His mind ap-
peared to me to be the seat of honour, inte-
grity, and truth ; and in his deportment, the
most engaging manners of the modern gen-
tleman, were dignified by the lofty spirit of an
ancient race. My own prejudices respecting
high birth, strengthened every impression in
his favour, and invested him with all the accu-
mulated merits of his ancestors.

" Oil ! how was I deceived I How vain, how

OLDCOURT. 371

futile the presumption of superior worth, in
those who boast their lofty lineage ! When I
think of him who was the offspring of an humble
peasant, — of him, for whose untimely fate, I
must ever hold myself, in some degree, re-
sponsible,— when I consider his pure integrity — •
his noble disinterestedness, — his generous de-
votion,— his faithful love, and final sacrifice —
the hapless victim of despair and frenzy I — when
I contrast him, in every thing which constitutes
true nobility of character, with the proud de-
scendant of an ancient house, — how is my idle
vanity rebuked !

" Yes ! Pierce Doran I poor, unhappy friend !
For your sake, shall I ever hereafter contemn
those unfounded claims of blood and birth,
which pervert our notions of true moral dignity,
and set up a false standard of merit.

" He early warned me of my danger ; he saw
through the specious covering that concealed it
from my dazzled eye ; and in his death, as often
in his life, he rescued me from the peril that
hung over me. I shudder, when I think, that
one moment more would have linked my fate,
for ever, to a man on whom I must have looked
with horror, and for w^hom my love must have
expired with my respect.

" Do not imagine, sir, that I mean to reproach

372 OLDCOURT.

you for your conduct towards me. Slight, in-
deed, is ray wrong, compared to the wrongs
which you have inflicted on others. I w^ould
merely account for, and justify the last resolve,
which reason and religion have alike extorted
from a weak and wounded, but submissive spirit.

" I presume not to discuss with you, the ex-
act proportion of criminality which should attach
to your proceedings, according to what you term
' the palliating licence of fashionable life.' I am
ill-qualified for such a task. But if the manners
or the maxims of the fashionable world, be such
as to countenance misconduct, and palliate im-
morality, I have little cause to lament the destiny,
W'hich will withdraw me for ever from their con -
taminating influence.

" You strongly urge upon me, sir, the com-
punctious feelings with which you view your ir^
regularities, as you call them ; and you declare
your anxiety to make every possible atonement
to your unhappy victim. But, alas ! what atone-
ment can be made for a broken heart — for a
ruined reputation — for a dishonoured name !
With what balm will you sooth the double
desolation of a father's spirit, in the shame of
his daughter, and the sacrifice of his son I

" There is one reparation, indeed, M'hich you
have it in your power to ofler to this poor un-

OLDCOURT. 373

fortunate ; a reparation to which, if I could al-
low myself to be niade a bar, I should become the
accomplice of your crime. You would tell me,
perhaps, that she is beneath you ; and you \Yould
convert the wrong that you have done her, into a
reason for refusing its only reparation. But in
my humble opinion, sir, he who wantonly in-
flicts an injury, sinks at once below the person
who suffers it. It is vice only that can be truly
said to taint the blood, and profligacy should be al-
lowed no privilege. \Ye shall be one day judged
before a tribunal, at whose bar such a plea of
pride would but aggravate our offences — a bar
where sin alone will be considered shame, and
guilt regarded as the sole debasement.

" If these vrords offend you, sir, recollect that
you have wrung them from me. They are words
of sorrow, not of resentment — they have been
written in anguish — let them not be read in anger.
I will not disguise the conflict which I have en-
dured, to chase your image from a heart in which
you have had no rival, and will have no successor.
You first opened that heart to the delusions of
hope and joy ; and you have seared it up again in
sadness and disappointment. But the struggle is
over — the calm of extinguished hope has set-
tled on my soul. I have sought aid from the

374 OLDCOURT.

fountain of all mercy, and Heaven has pointed
out to me a refuge.

" Accept, sir, my warmest wishes for your wel-
fare here, and be assured of my fervent prayers
for your happiness hereafter. Truly, sincerely
do I forgive the wound that you have inflicted in
this breast, although it bleeds afresh while I de-
clare, that we meet no more in this world! —
Farewell, for ever ! " G. O,"

The tone of calm and fixed despondency
which pervaded this final decree against the ba-
ronet's hopes, and the evident intimation it con-
tained, of the writer's meditated seclusion from
the world, deeply affected the whole family.
Barry, to whom the task of reading it had been
assigned, was so overcome by his feelings, that
he could not proceed, and was obliged to hand
the letter to his brother Philip. Mrs. Oldcourt
sat, in silent anguish, with that peculiar waving
motion of the body, which in Ireland charac-
terizes deep distress ; the tears trickling from her
eyes, and her hands locked together on her knees.

When the reading of the letter was finished, a
silence of some seconds prevailed ; at length the
old squire, dashing a tear from his eye-lids,
eoughed up a hope, " that his poor girl had not

OLDCOURT. 375

refined too much, for her own happiness, in a
world like this, where few were found without a
blot or blemish."

Miss Matty Malone warmly declared, that
" Grace had decided as prudently as justly. Bet-
ter far would it be for her to remain single for
life, than to place her happiness at the mercy
of a man who had proved himself capable of
acting with such cruel hypocrisy, at such a
moment."

Philip Oldcourt reprobated " the unprincipled
libertine, who, he much feared, had blasted all
his sister's prospects for life, and driven her
thoughts into a channel from which they could
never be diverted."

The second brother. Garret Oldcourt, who
seldom favoured his family with his opinions on
any subject, thought proper on this occasion, to
observe, with strong marks of disapprobation,
that " his sister was a great deal too squeamish
and sentimental. For his part, he could not
Bee that the baronet was worse than other peo-
ple. Most young men were a little wild before
marriage ; and he thought it w^as quite enough if
they allowed themselves to be hen-pecked after-
wards. Sir Walter had done nothing more than
what was common enough in the higher classes
of society, and was attended with no disgrace

376 OLDCOURT.

amongst those who considered themselves as
examples in manners and morals. Many a girl
of spirit would like him the better for his gal-
lantries; and Grace should think twice, before
she threw such a card out of her hand, and in a
foolish fit of romance, rejected an establishment
which would secure splendor for herself, and
might be serviceable to her family."

Father Clancy, who had hitherto remained
silent, now said, addressing Garret, with one of
his sternest looks : —

" Young man, these principles do you no
credit ; and you learned them not from me."

" By Heaven !" exclaimed Barry, breaking in
upon the speaker, with great emotion, " they are
base and ignoble principles. Recollect, sir,"
added he, turning indignantly to the offender,
" you are not now amongst your favourite asso-
ciates— cock-fighters, and horse-jockies, for whom
you had better reserve such maxims."

Flushed with anger. Garret Vv^as about to
retort, when father Clancy prevented him, by
saying : —

" In the- presence of your father, young gen-
tleman, and as yoar preceptor, I tell you, that
your brother has justly, though intemperately,
rebuked you. You libel your sister's sentiments,
when you term them squeamish and romantic.

OLDCOURT. o//

They are the sentiments of a pure, pious, and
noble mind, — of a heart glowing with every gene-
rous virtue, and capable of an heroic sacrifice of
its dearest affections, when honour, duty, and
religion require it.

" My worthy friends," continued he, turning to
Mr. and Mrs. Oldcourt, " afflict not yourselves
unnecessarily; but rather rejoice in the escape of
the angelic child, with which Heaven has blessed
you, from a fate w'hich w^e should all deplore —
the withering, and baleful embrace of a profligate.
The Providence that watches over innocence and
virtue, has guided the decision of your daughter.
Try not, therefore, to disturb it. After w^hat
has passed, she could not hope for happiness or
safety in a union with Sir Walter D'Arcy. Trust,
then, to the healing influence of time upon her
heart ; and her duty and affection to her family
will reconcile her to the w^orld."

The address of the venerable priest had its
proper influence upon his hearers ; and all par-
ties, without farther observation, acquiesced in
the propriety of the baronet's final rejection.

Barry Oldcourt undertook to deliver the letter
to Sir Walter D'Arcy ; an arrangement W'hich
seemed to excite some uneasiness in the squire,
who, fearing lest the fiery spirit of his son, might

"a/O OLDCOURT.

prompt him to measures uncalled for by the oc-
casion, took an opportunity of observing to him
privately : —

" Recollect, Barry, that although Sir Walter
D'Arcy nas not conducted himself properly in
this matter, he has failed in no engagement with
my family ; and as he has made every conces-
sion in his power to your sister, no hostile mea-
sure can be necessary, either for her honour or
yours."

Barry pressed his father's hand, and assured
him, " he would take no step in the affair which
Mr. Oldcourt, himself, would not resort to under
similar circumstances."

OLDCOURT. 379

CHAPTER XXL

As Barry Oldcourt was anxious that the busi-
ness which he proposed to transact with Sir Wal-
ter D'Arcy should meet with no interruption,
he immediately proceeded to seek an interview
with hiai at the military depot in Galway.

He found the baronet, seated at table after din-
ner, with three of his brother officers. He seemed
much disconcerted by the presence of his visitor,
and received, with evident perturbation, the letter
which he knew would prove decisive as to his
hopes of completing his matrimonial engagement
with Miss Oldcourt. His eagerness to ascertain
the contents of a dispatch so interesting, would
not allow him to stand on ceremony ; but his
agitation on opening it increased to such a degree,
that he was obliged to m.ake an apology to his
guests, and retire to read it in private.

After a delay rather longer than was necessary

380 OLDCOURT.

for the perusal of the letter, a servant announced
to Barry Oldcourt that Sir Walter D'Arcy re-
quested his company in the next room for a few
moments To this message, the former rephed,
in a tone and manner which not a Httle surprised
his hearers, " that he declined all private commu-
nication with Sir Walter D'Arcy."

After the lapse of a few minutes, the baronet,
with an assumed air of calmness and self-posses-
sion, returned to the company; and when he had
re-occupied his chair, Barry Oldcourt, rising from
his seat, sternly addressed him : —

" Sir Walter D'Arcy, the letter which I have
just dehvered to you, has, I believe, finally closed
all intercourse between you and the family of Old-
court Castle."

To this address, the baronet replied only by an
assenting inclination of the head. Young Old-
court then proceeded : —

" The moment is arrived, therefore, when 1 am
at liberty to satisfy my feelings ; and I avail myself
of this opportunity to tell you, in the presence of
your friends, that you have disgraced the charac-
ter of an officer and a gentleman ; that I disclaim
your acquaintance, and demand from you imme-
diate satisfaction for a conduct at once unprinci-
pled, dishonourable, and base.

A declaration like this, delivered with appro-

OLDCOURT. 381

priate energy, excited, as may be supposed, con-
siderable surprise in the company. The baronet
started in his seat — became pale as death ; and,
after a struggle to repress his agitation, replied : —

" Barry Oldcourt, yoa have used language to
me, which, under other circumstances, and
from any other man living, I should punish on
the spot. But I am humbled by the conscious-
ness that I am in the wrong ; and I will not add
to my offences in the eyes of Miss Oldcourt, by
endangering the life of her brother. Let me
remark, however, that a less pubhc discussion
of our differences, would be more prudent for
all parties."

" Sir," rejoined Barry, with increased warmth,
" this is evasion, and shall not avail you. Miss
Oldcourt's name must not be defiled in the
mouth of a profligate ; and if you would not
oblige me to apply to you a still more degrading
epithet, you will not shrink from the resentment
which you have so wantonly provoked."

" Shrink I ' cried D'Arcy, with indignation ;
but cliecking himself, he proceeded : —

" Barry, you have not had sufhcient grounds to
justify this violence. Though I acknowledge that
my indiscretion has unhappily exposed me to cen-
sure, my honour is clear of all intentional oiience
to you, or any member of your family ; and I

382 OLDCOURT.

entreat, before you urge matters to the last
extremity between us, that you will allow me, in
private, a few moments calm attention."

"Coward!" exclaimed Barry Oldcourt, with
great vehemence, " I disdain all parley with
you."

Roused to the highest state of irritation, the
baronet sprang from his seat, as if under an
impulse personally to repel the insult he had
received. His friends starting up at the same
time, apparently to prevent such a proceeding,
and one of them expostulating with Barry on
what he termed his unnecessary violence, the
fiery youth replied, —

" Your interference, sir, is officious. 1 do
not submit my conduct to your decision ; and my
resentment must be measured by my provo-
cation."

The baronet, now greatly agitated, turned to
bis friends and said : —

" Gentlemen, you have witnessed at what a
sacrifice of feeling, and almost of honour, I have
endeavoured to avoid a contest with this impe-
tuous young man. Forbearance now, however,
you will admit to be impossible."

To this the officers assented ; and D'Arcy.
addressing Barry Oldcourt, said : —

*' Mr. Oldcourt, I retort not vour insults ; nor

OLDCOURT. 383

do I fear, that my character for courage will
Buffer, though I acknowledge my regret for
those unhappy circumstances which have prompted
you to a proceeding so inconsiderate. Your
intemperance has, however, left me no alter-
native. The satisfaction you require, I am ready
to give you, w^hen and where you please/'

Barry Oldcourt demanded that they should
immediately proceed to settle the matter that
evening, in the barrack field. " He had his
pistols ready, and as the baronet w^as at home.
he was of course prepared."

This proposition, however, w-as objected to
by the officers present, on the ground, that the
baronet's opponent was not provided with a
second. They also considered that a proceeding
so hasty w^as unusual, and would be regarded as
highly censurable.

After much warm discussion, it was finally
arranged, that a meeting between D'Arcy and
Barry Oldcourt should take place the following
morning at day-break, on a common near the
town ; and, this point being settled, the parties
separated for the night.

Punctual to time and place, the combatants
appeared, attended by their seconds ; and the
officers who had been present, w'hen the arrange-
ment was made, immediately joined them on the

384 OLDCOURT.

ground. The irritation to which the parties had
been excited the previous evening, and the nature
of the transaction in which their hostihty origi-
nated, gave to the affair a character of more than
ordinary seriousness ; and the anxious expres-
sion of every countenance indicated the appre-
hension of some fatal result.

The baronet wore the appearance of a man
who had passed through a fever of agitation, which
had at length subsided in a calm and frozen for-
titude, that nothing now could ruffle or disturb.
The process of fermentation seemed to be quite
over, and the spirit ran clear and cold. His
aspect was pale and sad, but it v,-as a sadness
serene, and self-possessed ; as if the soul, shut up
in resolute apathy, was no longer accessible to
hopes or fears.

He bowed distantly to Barry Oldcourt, who
as distantly returned the salutation ; but neither
of them spoke.

The ceremonial of the combat was soon ad-
justed. In compliance with the desire of the
baronet, expressed through his second, the parties
were to take their ground at twelve paces dis-
tance— to advance upon each other by signal,
and fire at their own discretion.

This mode of conducting a duel is rarely re-
sorted to, except in cases of extraordinary bos-

OLDCOURT. 385

tility, and it genercilly proves fatal to one or
both of the parties. It seemed strange, there-
fore, from the absence of all enmity on D'Arcy's
part, that he should have proposed an arrange-
ment so likely to be attended by serious con-
sequences. Before he took his station, he drew
a paper from his pocket, and presenting it to his
second, said slowly and distinctly : —

" I wish that paper to be read on the ground
at the close of this contest,"

The pistols were now delivered to the parties,
and each calmly took his place.

The signal having been given, the baronet,
with a hurried step, advanced towards his an-
tagonist, who, seeing him approach so near,
and conceiving that his intention was to make
sure of his mark, fired, without moving from
the spot where he was first stationed. D'Arcy
staggered back a little, but, immediately recover-
ing himself, tottered forward a few paces closer
to his adversary, till the presented pistol almost
touched his breast. D'Arcy then, in a feeble
voice, said, —

" Barry, you have hit me, and in the right
place ; — 'ti% as I wished, — but you see I still have
strength to discharge my pistol ;" on saying
which, he turned half-round, fired in the air,

VOL. III. 8

386 OLDCOURT.

and, on the instant, fell apparently lifeless to
the earth.

Barry and the seconds now anxiously ap-
proached the wounded man ; he raised himself,
with great difficulty, on his elbow, held out his
hand to his opponent, and faintly addressing
him, said, —

"Tell your sister I have thus atoned for all." —

Articulation here failed him ; — he evidently
struggled in another effort to speak, but a con-
vulsive shudder ran through his whole frame,
and with a heavy sigh he expired.

The surgeon of D'Arcy's regiment, who had
been one of his party the evening before, and
who attended the duel as one of his friends,
having pronounced that life was extinct, the
baronet's second, greatly agitated, now opened
the paper which his principal had deposited in
his hands, and read it to those around him, as
follows : — -

" T wish by this paper to attest, that I enter
the field determined not to fire at my adversary,
under any circumstances. I desire also to ac-
knowledge, that by a proceeding which was
attended with unforeseen and fatal consequences.
I have given just, though unintentional cause of

OLDCOURT. 387

displeasure to Miss Oldcourt and her family ; it
is my earnest wish, therefore, that should T fall
in this contest, no measures may be resorted to
by my friends to molest Mr. Oldcourt, ^Yhom I
freely forgive and exonerate from all blame on
this occasion.

" Walter Maurice D'Arcy."

Thus fell, in the prime of life, and in the
full vigour of his faculties. Sir Walter Maurice
D'Arcy, a man distinguished by many virtues,
and adorned with many accomphshments. He
was Hberal, brave, and generous ; amiable in his
temper, and engaging in his manners ; Nature
had cast him of her best materials, and in her
most perfect mould ; but the finishing of a moral
and religious education was wanting to complete
her work.

Spoiled by neglect and indulgence when a boy,
his superior talents were suffered to run to
waste ; perverted by corrupt precepts and evil
example when a youth, his strong passions were
allowed to run riot : inipressed with no princi-
ples but those whigh a false honour fabricates, as
a substitute for the sterling maxims of religion
and morality, he was left without chart or com-
pass to guide him on his course ; but though
blown about for a time by all the winds of vice

388 OLDCOURT.

and folly, the originally sound qualities of his
head and heart would have corrected the irre-
gularities of his conduct, if he had not fallen
an untimely victim to the tolerated licentious-
ness of fashionable life, and the profligate habits
of — a mem of gallantry.

OLDCOURT. 389

CONCLUSION.

More than thirty years had elapsed, subse-
quent to the transactions above narrated : my va-
rious pursuits inhfehad led me far from the scene in
which those transactions took place; and engrossed
by the all-absorbing cares of the world, the events
themselves, and the characters engaged in them, had
long ceased to occupy my attention, and almost to
live in my recollection ; when, little thinking I
should ever be occupied in recording such occur-
rences, I found myself, after a long absence, in the
British metropolis, to which I had been obliged
to repair on business. I there, by accident, dis-
covered, that a friend with w^hom 1 had been in-
timate in very early life, had attained considerable
reputation in the profession of the law, and was
then a resident in one of the Inns of Court.
Old associations were immediately revived in my
mind ; and I felt the strongest desire to renew my
s 2

390 OLDCOURT.

intercourse with the companion of my youthfal
days.

I was directed to my friend, at his chambers in
the Temple ; and I there found him, according to
the common phrase, " up to his eyes in business."
He was surrounded by all the formidable enginery
of his profession ; the statutes at large, frowning
in folio, from heavily encumbered shelves, — rolls
and records, deeds and documents, of every des-
cription, looking litigation — significant of strife,
and appalling the mind with all the perils that
harrass human life, through the operation of
parchment.

As I was not announced, we met as strangers ;
he did not recollect me, and it was wdth some
difficulty I recognised, in the sallow, scrutinizing
aspect of the study-worn lawyer, the open, florid,
and facetious countenance of my juvenile asso-
ciate. My name, however, immediately brought
me to his remembrance ; he received me, then,
as cordially as if I had been one of his best cli-
ents ; and had my hand been extended to him
with a fee, he could not have given it a more
hearty shake.

He was, however, at the moment, too much
occupied to bestow his time upon an idle visitor ;
and he, therefore, with many expressions of sa-
tisfaction at our renewed intercourse, requested

OLDCOURT. 391

me to take a family dinner with him on the en-
suing Sunday, at his " httle box" in the neigh-
bourhood of London, where, as he said, we should
have leisure to talk of old times — a sort of painful
pleasure in which, as we grow old, we gladly em-
brace every opportunity to indulge.

My friend's " little box" turned out to be an
elegant villa, in a pleasant village about six miles
from town ; — his family dinner was a feast, con-
sisting of all the delicacies of the season, and
served up in a style of the most luxurious refine-
ment. The company was composed of my host's
pretty numerous family — his wife, three sons,
and two daughters, — a neighbour of his in the
country, a retired merchant, and two professional
friends from Lincoln's Inn.

The dinner passed off pleasantly enough, though
I confess I thought the viands more palatable than
the conversation. " Learned friends," particularly
the younger brethren of the gown, are sometimes
a httle too pedantic and professional, — occasion-
ally somewhat pompous and disputatious, — rather
too dogmatic in statement, supercilious in dis-
cussion, and contemptuous in their treatment of
topics unconnected with their own pursuits.
But when a little experience of the world has
taught them how to estimate what Burke calls
"the lumber of Hicks's Hall and the Old Bailey," —

392 OLDCOURT.

when they have acquired some respect for com-
mon sense, as well as for common law, and begin
to suspect that special pleading, in all its forms
and fictions, is not " the perfection of human
reason," they are frequently found to be libereil,
agreeable, and eloquent companions.

The wars of Westminster Hall, and the events
of the disastrous campaign in Russia, having en-
grossed the conversation at table, entirely to the
exclusion of that " talk of old times" which I
had expected to enjoy with my friend, I was not
sorry when a languid circulation of the bottle,
and a suspension of energy in argument, gave
our host an opportunity to propose an adjourn-
ment to the drawing-room.

On looking round me there, I perceived an
accession to the company, in the person of an
elderly lady, whose peculiar appearance and de-
portment strongly attracted my attention.

Though sbe had not formed one of the dinner
party, I immediately concluded, from divers do-
mestic indications, that she was at home in the
family ; and though I was not particularly intro-
duced to her, she noticed my approach to the
part of the room where she sat, by a slight move-
ment of equal grace, politeness, and dignity.

Her dress was of deep black, plain and un-
adorned, but evidently not intended for mourn-

OLDCOURT.

393

ing. Her coiffure was a cap, neatly plaited, and
closely fitted to her face, concealing her hair in
the fashion of a widow, but not displaying the
broad border which is appropriated to that cha-
racter. Her aspect was- pale and thin, but ex-
hibiting the hue of sorrow rather than of sick-
ness ; and a few faint and fibrous streaks of deli-
cate red, on her sallow cheek, denoted that the
brightest rose of beauty had once bloomed there.

Her features, though not perfectly regular,
were formed for the expression of all that is
good in feeling, gracious in manner, or inter-
esting in emotion ; and though fifty years, at
least, must have passed over her head, it was
plain that time had not been so much her enemy,
as care.

The general character of her countenance, and
her mild demeanour, gave the impression of a se-
rene and settled melancholy — a humiliation of the
heart ; — the utter prostration of a spirit prema-
turely divorced from the vanities of this life ; —
calm, passionless, and uncomplaining; — ab-
stracted from all earthly interests, and tranquilly
waiting its dismissal to the tomb.

But though melancholy gave the general colour
to her expression, it was unmixed with any tinge
of discontent or dissatisfaction ; and if her eye
no longer sparkled with pleasure, or brightened

394 OLDCOURT.

in the laughing light of joy, her look was still
placid, benevolent, and kind.

She spoke rarely, and only when directly
addressed: she then replied, with a languid
smile, in accents so sweet, so gentle, and so
gracious, that you saw she was grateful for your
notice; and her w^ords fell on the ear hke a
strain of delightful music, which enchants us
whila it lasts, and which we eagerly hearken for,
in the hope of hearing it again.

To the family around her, I could perceive
she was an object of the greatest respect and
aflfection ; and, indeed, all present seemed de-
sirous to mark towards her, their sentiments of
deference and consideration.

For something more than an hour, during
which she remained in the drawing-room, after
my entrance, my observation w^as entirely di-
rected to the fair stranger; an undefined feeling
of anxious interest and curiosity occupied my
whole soul, and so rivetted my attention to her
every look and motion, that my host observed
the effect she had produced upon me ; and,
taking an opportunity of drawing me on one
side, -he said, —

" Your curiosity, my old friend, seems to be
considerably excited by the lady who has just
retired from the room."

OLDCOURT. 395

I acknowledged that I had never met with
any woman, whose person, manner, and whole
appearance were, at her time of life, so cal-
culated to awake a powerful interest in the
beholder.

" Her lot in Ufe," resumed my friend, with a
sigh, " has been unhappy. When young, she
was a distinguished beauty, admired alike for
her person and disposition. Some distressing
circumstances, which clouded her early prospects,
acting on a pious mind, gave her a distaste to
the world, and she retired to a convent at Lille.
There, after a short residence, she took the veil,
and became so exemplary for the performance of
every moral and religious duty, that, on the
death of the superior, she was appointed to fill
that station. She, however, declined all dis-
tinction, and desired to continue an obscure and
simple nun.

" During the violent progress of the French
Revolution, when all religious houses were sup-
pressed, the convent at Lille shared the common
fate; and its pious and charitable community,
plundered and dispersed, were thrown upon the
mercy of the world, to find shelter v/here they
could, amongst their friends. When I learned
the destruction which had fallen upon the
establishment, I passed over to Flanders, and

396 OLDCOURT.

conducted the unhappy lady, who was thus ren-
dered destitute, to this house, in which she has
resided ever since.

" Here, she is as regular and punctual in the
performance of her devotions, as if she were still
a tenant of the cloister ; but she does not refuse
to mix in the society of my family, in the way
she has done this evening, provided nothing be
said or done to draw attention towards her.

" In short, my friend," continued my host,
pressing my hand with great emotion, while a
tear stood in his eye, " in the poor recluse who
has so much attracted your notice, you have
beheld the wreck of youth and beauty, in my
angel sister, — the once universally admired
GRACE OLDCOURT.

THE END.

PRINTED BV HENRY DIGGEN^, LEICESTER STREET,
LEICESTER SQUARE.

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